


Twilight Ends When Lavender Falls

by turquoise_moon



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Color-Blind Sorey, Half-Vampires, Lust at First Sight, Military Background, Multi, Murder, Rough Sex/Body Play, Suicide, Vampire Slayers, War & Dystopia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2019-08-25 08:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16657354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turquoise_moon/pseuds/turquoise_moon
Summary: Other title: Lavender Falls--------------------By the time you read this letter, you must have already forgotten who I wasOr why I'm writing to you like this...I couldn't even say if seven hundred years felt long or short.All I know is I hadn't felt more alive than when I was with you...So I hope this time you'll forgive meBut there's something you need to know.I've loved you and killed you so many times you must hate me...You must wish I were dead.I wish I were, but life is too short and death so long.I'll see you soon... maybe not yet but soonFor the last time, my last goodbye...--------------------As a soldier and knight, Sorey has killed so many out of a sense of duty to his country and to his family, the clan of Ravendalf...But even for the legendary vampire slayer, the walk through centuries of death and tragedy has never been easy. Wherever he went he was haunted with memories of a silver-haired, lavender-eyed beauty, the one and only desire he has ever had... and the one undying regret he could not live without.





	1. The Madman

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The original story behind Tales of Zestiria and Tales of Zestiria the X belongs to Bandai-Namco and Ufotable respectively. Since the writer makes no profit from this labor of love and, in fact, struggles against shame and hopeless obsession every time she has to write an additional chapter for her self-pleasure and that of others like her, she respectfully makes a plea against any law suit. :D  
>   
> Obsession has no shame, by the way. You’ve been warned. ^_^  
> 

  **o)------------o)O(o------------(o**

 

 _Slow regrets that_ _live in the dark_

_I wrote them all down_

_But I know them by heart._

_I've counted the cost of this loneliness_

_And I've paid for the crime_

_And one day I'll die_

_With you in my mind..._

 

_And I'm falling down_

_Like it's holy ground_

_I'm looking for you again_

_I'm looking for you again..._

 

-originally by **Matthew Perryman Jones** , _"_ Looking for You Again,"

performed by **Pandora** for **_Inferno's Ballad_**  

 

 **o)------------o)O(o------------(o**   

 

 

_18 Nov. 2880_

_10:15 p.m._

 

The smell of vanilla...

I don't think I'll ever get tired of it. Or be rid of it.

You see, it's hard to find things you can describe in just one word.

Vanilla is sweet. It smells sweet. And sweet is good.

But what I like best about vanilla is the color.

White is pure... like a billow of clouds in summer or a wintry blanket of snow. 

Sometimes the radiance pains like a shock of sunlight. 

So they say white is blinding... But for me it's the only _other_ color. 

Everything else is black like ash. Like the smell of death

Like the sound of ghosts, or the taste of sin when I think of  _him_.

 

Vanilla makes me think of him. It's childish and naive, I know.

But my thoughts of him are not innocent. He's so pure it hurts.

He's so gentle it makes me want to break him.

He's so helpless beneath me I feel the urge to crush him, bleed him.

And his resistance makes it all the better.

Red must be a rich color, now that frustrates me. I become careless... 

I break him and heal him just so I can break him all over again.

 

I lust for him, and it's not the same as sex.

It must be part of it, how can I not want him that way? But it's never enough...

My lust is savage and tireless. As that part of me grinds into him

My nails dig into his flesh. My fingers tear into his soul.

My fangs tattoo him with scars. He bleeds...

He cries in agony and my orgasm soars. 

His tears frighten me, but they're too beautiful to regret.

I plunge into him with every heartbeat, loving his body and his pain.

 

We make love until the moon's grown tired. No night is long enough. 

 

My lust is filled with wants.

I want all of him, the scent and sweat of him...

Everything that's part of him is mine.

I crave the very air he breathes, I'm jealous of the rain...

The tiniest speck of dust that touches him.

I lust for his soul. I thirst for his blood.

My mouth takes him all in, he's hot and hard, and I'm burning up. 

But my hunger for him is nothing that food or drink can fill.

My body has been starving, yet it refuses to feed...

 

I crave something deeper. I had tasted him, ravished him.

I had thrust myself into the deepest part of him and took his all.

My hunger drags me to despair. His everything is addicting. 

 

There's an abyss inside of me.

A black hole that wants to devour him over and over.

My hunger never abates. If anything, it only grows stronger.

Under the moon, I chased his shadow. We made love like alley cats.

We were shamelessly dead to the world, though my lips have traveled every inch of his skin. 

Canons fired, tanks roared, and the war ripped hopes and dreams in nameless places.

We withstood the centuries, or at least I tried. I felt the world change.  

Memories came and went. But in every one of them he's alive... 

I still worship the sound of his feet. I still watch him as he sleeps.

I count the rise and fall of his breathing like bullets through my heart.

 

But his pride is like a dagger, his stony silence a whip  

That my desire for him quivers when he kneels at my feet.

I get lost in his eyes when he holds it in.

I watch him pray, I listen to his broken pleas.

He thinks someone out there can save him.

I'm the broken savior who damned him to this hell.

I'm the only savior he needs.

 

The truth is, the world isn't worth saving if he's not in it.

 

I know I'm mad, but I can't help myself.

I must have him. I must have him again and again.

Even when I know that it ends the same way...

My deep, despondent love shall kill him, shatter him as before.

But I can't help myself. And there's no other explanation.

Not that it matters. There's no cure, no logic, no excuse.

I'm desperately mad, and I can't even lie about this.

It's not a curse, just a bad habit. That I can't lie about me.

It's always where the trouble and danger begins.

But that's not half so bad.

 

The worst thing about life is trying to die.

It's ironic that no matter how I hate this life, I can't even die. 

I've tried killing myself countless times but nothing ever worked.

Nothing ever could work.

 

By now you must know, you're reading the diary of a madman.

 

I'm tainted with incurable madness, I'm as mad as the moon is mad.

I'm as mad as the sound of rain, the scent of snow as it falls on his hair.

His hair is silver, thank god it is. In a world of black and white, his hair... his pale, pale skin...

At least I see them as I should. His beauty is real, not imagined. 

They tell me his eyes are the color of twilight. I try to think of lavender...

But all I see are petals falling. Someday I hope to see what it's like...

When the sun paints the sky before it fades into grey.

Then again, that's all I can ever hope to know from other people's eyes.

Still it's better than utter blindness.

Though everyone must be blind one way or another

Otherwise we'd see the ugly part of ourselves.

Not that we should. Not that it hurts to deny what hurts.

At least the things no one sees hurt no one.

 

To me the world is a dead monochrome of black and white.

They must think it pitiful that I can see only this.

As if it bothers me. If anything, I can use my imagination.

I imagine his color, his scent, his taste when he and I can't be together.

 

My mind is a flood of colors of him.

Yet my world is a walking shadow without him.

  

Like that day in November, a cold night under colder stars.

The year was twenty-one eleven, the eleventh day of the month.

Seven hundred and seventy years had gone by since then.

It's not like I counted each day... or maybe I did. Maybe it's the agony of waiting 

For myself to wake up. You see, it was the day that I killed him. 

And yet it feels closer than yesterday

The day we said our first goodbye to each other.

 

Crying is not manly, everyone tells me.

But I know much better than to think

That I'm the only one who has lost him. 

They must have wept their own sorrows like I did. 

Maybe I'm the only one who shows it,

The one who visits the same grave.

I despair that the cold earth embraces him more than I can.

For my kind, humans are lesser gods. They can't be loved or hated.

Maybe it's one of those golden rules. 

But another rule broken doesn't make any difference. I break them all. 

And I never asked once to be understood. 

My grief is my own.

 

I miss him now... all the time... before I sleep and when I wake up.

Don't ask what I do in between, when I miss him more than I can take.  

I'll bring him lilies tomorrow. He must be happy to know that his garden blooms with it.

 

I feel like traveling again. But I'm leaving this journal to you.

You've been reading this, I know. So we're not exactly strangers.

Just the same, there are things you must know...

The owner of this diary is I, Sorey von Ravendalf.

Though Sorey has been my name for ages,

Ravendalf belongs to the family that took me in after the war.

It's a strange name, I guess, but nothing's stranger than truth.

They are a clan of nobles, an old family of military repute.

Underground, an old legacy haunts it, a secret alliance guarded well. 

The Ravendalfs are a family of vampire slayers.

I've been the inheritor for generations, the undying knight-commander of its forsaken flock.

That story you will know soon enough... the litany of my horrible self.

 

But as all beginnings must start somewhere, let me warn you at least:

This is not a tale of beasts and magic, or some outlandish fantasy.

Even if you doubt as I suppose, I speak nothing less than the truth.

But why you? You never asked for this. You have a reason to be curious. 

Maybe it's enough that you hear me out, that someone else understands

What I did, what made me do it. My crime must be beyond hate.

Yet, the more reason I ask you to listen... as if I'm talking to a friend.

 

You must think we're demons, wicked to the very marrow of our bones.

Indeed we're dark and depraved, _Hell Incarnate_.

Immortalized sinners but no creature of the undead.

There's no sun so hot it can burn us to ashes.

We live and breathe, our blood is as warm as yours.

We fall ill, we feel our wounds, flesh and skin.

And the blood that runs in our veins is neither inky nor stale.

We have no need for coffins. We're not zombies.  

The dead can't undie. They can't rise with the living.

I'm not sure if the difference between us is what gives you life. 

Humans have a soul, I've no right to be jealous.

We've defiled ours long ago, when we defied the gods. 

Despite that, we are _not_ barbaric.

We do not feed like vultures. 

We do not cannibalize our prey.

 

True, our lusts are tainted and corrupt, and they're also of the flesh.

But we only drink the blood of our chosen prey.

Your blood is a gift, a blessing...

The reason we treasure human lives far more than you think we do. 

 _The blood is the life_ , one vampire says in one of those old, old movies.

He calls himself _Dracula_ , gods, what a fake!

 

We do not take life from life. We taste its sweetness...

Knowing the humanity we lost is written in your soul.

No one can take what cannot be given away. 

And no being of darkness may ask for more.

 

Tragic as it seems, that's just what I am. 

The real thing, a living, undying curse wrought through the ages.

A breathing monster of a man, a most inhuman man.

 

Twenty centuries of living is what killed me the most.

Because of him I can only write these words. 

His words have always been quiet, as voiceless as the grave.

But they burn inside me 'til now. Those eyes...

I love the way they move when he reads.

But this writing, this journal... it's different and unnatural.

My mouth is vulgar, just like every hidden part of me is.

My attempt at poetry shames me. But I try for the sake of something better

Than I am. I try because someone like him, so beautiful and perfect

In every single way deserves more than half-ass verses.

But even pure madness can only do so much. 

And miracles are hard, even for the most insane.

 

I loved him and killed him, does that make any sense?

It sounds like a B-movie, I know. 

It's like something written in the tabloids.

Bizarre crimes of passion. Just another suspense thriller.

But if there's anything I've been wanting to say since that day,

What I should've told him back then is that--

I _loved_ him deeper than any hate, far more than all of me could ever love itself.

I can't let him go. Yet he doesn't belong here.

He's too damn good for this world.

 

Too good, too beautiful, beyond words and poetry.

That's why I killed him. And you must tell him this.

You must make him understand.

 

I'll tell you everything so that you'll understand what I did.

So you'll hear my truths... the truth that makes me hate myself even more.

 

Love is mad, I know... but only fools like me cannot unlove even so...

  

  **o)------------o)O(o------------(o**

 

 

 

 


	2. The Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the world seems to be falling apart, Sorey is about to discover that there's something more cruel and terrifying than war but far more beautiful and irresistible than death itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The original story behind Tales of Zestiria and Tales of Zestiria the X belongs to Bandai-Namco and Ufotable respectively. Since the writer makes no profit from this labor of love and, in fact, struggles against shame and hopeless obsession every time she has to write an additional chapter for her self-pleasure and that of others like her, she respectfully makes a plea against any law suit. :D  
>   
> Obsession has no shame, by the way. You’ve been warned. ^_^  
> 

 

**o)------------o)O(o------------(o**

_Like the sound of silence calling_

_I hear your voice and suddenly I’m falling_

_Lost in a dream…_

_Like the echoes of our souls are meeting_

_You say those words my heart stops beating_

_I wonder what it means…_

_What could it be, that comes over me?_

_At times I can’t move_

_At times I can hardly breathe…_

_When you say you love me_

_The world goes still, so still inside_

_And when you say you love me_

_In that moment I know why I'm alive…_

_There are times I swear I feel like I can fly_

_For a moment in time…_

_Somewhere between the Heavens and Earth_

_Frozen in time…_

_Oh, when you say those words…_

_When you say you love me…_

_Do you know how I love you?_

-originally by **Josh Groban** , _“_ When You Say You Love Me,”

performed by **Grecian Urn** for ** _Inferno’s Ballad_**

 

**o)------------o)O(o------------(o**

 

 

Today, the 20th of May 2099, marks the third year since the war has begun...

Once again where I stand and breathe, a cursed hope among the living, I watch the human world become a city of death and shadows...

 

The world is in chaos. Rumors have it that the war _must_ be ending pretty soon, but either the higher-ups don't really want to end it, or no one has any idea how. Because in the battlefield nothing’s changed.

The same scenarios repeat themselves like a broken record.

Soldiers march in the faltering rhythm of worn-out boots and hoarse, stentorian voices commanding them even under a lazy sunrise. They cradle their artillery and helmets like a friend missing a limb, their drooping shoulders saying more about the weight of the world and the war on their tired souls than anything.

Like any other officer, I worry about the men under my command. But it's that kind of worrying I’d rather push deep down. It's hard having to look into each and every face, to stare into those same, cold eyes that seem to suppress more hurt than anyone can imagine. It may sound wrong, but sympathy isn’t always the best companion for tragedy. There's nothing to pity about heroism even if its monuments have all been forgotten.

I've seen more deaths than any single lifetime can hold, and I've always believed that humanity can do better...

Then again, I could be wrong. Everywhere I look seems to be a holocaust of hunger and hate... a faceless war that can turn anything in its path into a weapon. It doesn't seem strange then that all these weapons of war reflect nothing more than the same onslaught, the same battered pride and hateful resignation their owners carry every day—human beings who must feel deep down that they’re better off being used as tools just the same…

Tools of war. Some say understanding adversity either lessens suffering or breeds contempt. But the truth is, none of that reasoning matters when one's bombarded with the absurd. For those who find themselves on the brink of absurdity each time they march into battle, it must be harder to be dragging one’s soul around like a broken leash… as hard as having to carry a comrade while trying to dodge cannons and gunfire. These hardened men walk with faces sunk yet swollen in grief, as if to spite the world by flaunting the wounds that fester on their exhausted conscience.

I feel their disgust and the hopelessness that reeks from it. Scarred with repressed fear, hate, and cold despair, most of these soldiers would be walking to their graves far sooner than I could suck the blood from the dying wounded.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath...

I can take the pain, even those memories that go with a comrade's insufferable anguish when he's about to die, that moment when he realizes his body's been blown and decapitated beyond healing. When I drink the blood of such men, I tell myself I’m saving something precious, a tiny spark of sanity that they needed to keep for their peace of mind before their final departure. 

But favors done for the sake of the dead are never returned. I experience a kind of undying death every single time I go through the routine of it all. Sometimes I get caught up in the fear of being the last man standing, the only one left undead in this dead, undying wasteland.

Not that it matters now...

Humanity is a city of corpses trying its damnest best to imitate life. Or what’s left of it at least. It’s been like that even before the war, but hardly anyone cares or wants to face it.

Call it the ravages of human conflict, but it still wouldn’t make much sense. I’m not sure if there’s any luck left in the world to fight such evil. And I don’t think spouting romantic nonsense like _all is fair in love and war_ would help.

I say it’s more like all is fair in hate and war. Where a soldier stands, he doesn’t have to know any other thing than the look and smell of the enemy—or how many bullets those bastards can fire before one of them hits him.

Every soldier’s been trained to see the enemy in front of him for what he's supposed to be—a target. There’s no need to know if the one he’s about to kill has kids, or some pretty wife waiting for him back home, or a gorgeous man more than willing to warm his bed. He didn’t have to ask if he had known what it’s like to date the prom queen or the cheerleader, or the teenage sweetheart he’s always had a crush on. He didn’t have to know if that older guy lying in the ditch next to him was a physicist who had lost his job when the war had started or a Professor Emeritus with half-a-dozen books in his name _._

He didn’t have to ask if the enemy he was about to shoot wanted the war to end soon enough so he could plan his kid’s first birthday, or stand next to the bride at his own wedding.

It was just bad that they had to live through this century at a time when that infection called “militarization” was going around. It spilled into the streets faster than forest fire when they dropped another one of those things over the Metropolitan five years ago. I saw it up close—close enough to know the stench of hate when it happened.

The thing ended up killing at least two million in a cloud of gas and smoke, leveling down the busiest business district in the world since those _other_ ivory towers had fallen.

Terrorism was on the rise and so were the anguished cries for justice, seeking the purge of the world that would rid it of antichrists and despots. Peace efforts failed miserably to awaken any sense of enlightened justice, and so the world started arming itself again.

It’s strange that even this war looked familiar. It felt like Europe during the first two World Wars two hundred and fifty years ago.

But in truth, and you know this: nothing is fair about war. More like all men are equal in death. When you’re about to go six feet under the ground, you stop thinking of the things you didn’t have, of the things you’ve lost or haven’t found, or the things you’ve always dreamed of having.

You stop thinking about good things and bad things, including all those other attachments that made them so important.

Like your first kiss, your first sex, even your first sports trophy. All that stuff fade into oblivion, like some fiction-fantasy you used to wish were real, until adulthood made you realize that wishes couldn’t come true just by wishing.

I’ve seen the injured too many times to know what’s left in that empty shell before it surrenders to the final call. What’s left is a searing anguish that tears the soul, the kind of gut-wrenching, agonizing agony that screams in your blood telling your brain to let go.

To let itself die.

No pain is worth suffering for. Even hell looks like a familiar friend when that pain hits you.

It’s not cowardice or weakness that makes pain so hateful, so undignified. I think it’s called giving up. It’s a human instinct I understand, maybe, because it’s something I envy more than anything.

If giving up were enough or even possible, I wouldn’t be here…

If I could live my life the way I want it, I’d kill it.

Around me, armored tanks rolled by. There was never a day that you wouldn’t see one of those things plowing ruins and human bodies alike. Not that I’m belittling the violence of it. I guess even you can imagine what that looks like on a plain field that used to be full of wildflowers.

I heard a holler across the street just as I was walking by, following the rhythm of a slow-moving tank. The voice was gruff and thick, with an accent everybody would recognize.

“Hey Ravendalf! Got a letter! It’s from your girl!”

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Alisha it says! Lieutenant Alisha Ladylake.”

Of course it can only be Alisha, I almost sigh. Though Ladylake isn't her real last name just as _plain_ lieutenant downgrades her actual rank. There's practical logic behind the higher ups' not using exact information in personal correspondences such as these, though how personal it is this time might be worth looking into.

“Uh, so Colonel, the Captain’s got one of those again, huh? Lucky bastard!”

Even from this distance, I could tell that was the sergeant speaking. I walked up to the pair without saying anything.

Not like there was anything to confirm at all. It’s not like Alisha was ever _my girl_ to begin with. She was an old friend whom I met at the university about six years ago. I heard she landed a military assignment right after graduation and now operates in a major facility half-a-continent away. Too bad sending emails or using any radio frequency to deliver even personal messages was a prohibition in the army, and protocol exempts no one, not even the daughter of the head of the Ministry of Defense.  

That would explain the letter, I guess.

Besides, Alisha was the only girl I knew who’s ever managed to maintain some kind of contact with me since the war started.

I’ve always liked her as a friend. Maybe you can say I was even fond of her. But that’s just about where it stops. I didn’t have any faith in friends with benefits, that kind of thing. It’s not like I have v _alues_ or any moral reservations. I guess you can say I’m just a bit old-fashioned.

Because in reality I _am_ old. I’ve been around since World War I and the holocaust.

You can say I’ve seen enough of the world to make me an icon in my own right. Maybe I’m older than some of the stuff you see in the museum.

Now _that_ hurts. Looking like an eternal teenager might be a blessing but, sometimes, it makes you feel guarded. Like people actually expect you to think and act immature rather than all-knowing.

Not that I am. But I do deserve some credit for at least thinking my _real_ age… for being old enough to _not_ trust everything that’s written down.

You don’t get wisdom with age or with books. You get it by overthinking. It’s when you over-analyze the world that you realize there’s nothing you can do about it.

That’s real wisdom for me.

And I know better than to rely on the manuals they send from the base. I prefer hands-on. Like I can fire any weapon within reach. Or decode any symbol from any language the enemy might use to radio commands to their rank and file. Aside from commanding platoons on a regular basis, I’m a communicator, a code-specialist, a front-line soldier, and a tank operator on occasions.

I'm an all-around bad guy who doesn’t give a shit about anyone. At least hours from the moment I met _him_ that was what I thought.

I tore the letter open as soon as I had it in my hand. Colonel Ralph von Wolverne, the only other officer who’s been around here for as long as I have, stared at me, mouth wide open. Not that I should feel self-conscious or anything. But I didn’t notice the others were looking until the sergeant cleared his throat.

They must think a letter is some gift from the gods.

“Uh, look, Sorey, maybe you can do that in private?”

“What for?” I asked glumly. Mornings are tough on me. We’ve been drilling ourselves senseless since four a.m. It’s half-past six and though breakfast is nothing to look forward to, I’d appreciate one right now.

“You wanna inspire some jealousy, kid?”

“How many times do I have to tell you Alisha and I are _not_ —”

“The more you deny it, the more it sounds shitty serious to us.”

“Sheesh…” I shake my head. “Your serious is scary.”

I try to read everything in two seconds. I know treating it more like a telegram than a love-letter everybody expects it to be is a bit unfair. But to be honest, I just don’t have time for personal stuff right now, or ever. I stop my breath.

An occasional breeze would carry the stench of rotting flesh and miasma. It hung heavily around us like a wet cloak—clingy, soggy, and cold. I stop at the last two sentences.

_By the way, I’d like you to meet someone at the old subway, CA-C-1400. You won’t miss him at all, believe me, and take care as always, please?_

Her code was too easy. What she meant was the twentieth of the current month as C equals two and A is always zero, and the last C means “current.” The letter is a request to meet with an officer at two p.m. at the subway and bring him to base.

Tacky. If an enemy had actually intercepted this, they wouldn’t have time to figure out what’s it about by the time the mission expires. And like what I said, Alisha unexpectedly used a very simple code.

So simple you’d hardly suspect it. I guess that was the idea.

I can almost tell this person I was supposed to escort must be some VIP.

It’s when people are less guarded that you know they have tighter security measures in place. It’s even possible I’m being watched as I stand. You can’t be too sure about these things, and it’s actually the way things must work.

Partial reinforcement creates madness through needless, insistent non-thinking. Behaviorists didn’t say that. But I just have a feeling it works that way.

Put another way, all my expectations are just standard expectations. Like a new face always gives me a bad feeling because you can’t tell for how long it’s gonna stick around. “Nice to meet you” always ends in goodbye, so sometimes you just give up on making new friends. It’s scary to think that the one you’re sharing jokes with might be the one you’d have to carry out of a ditch and bury the next day. Though there’s hope that’s not gonna happen ‘cause it doesn’t happen all the time (no matter how bad you think of it), you’re forced to expect the worst every single time.

Why? Just because you need to fill in the blanks, the gaps. Better expect what happens _most_ of the time than things that happen only _sometimes_.

Before you know it, your mind and body start acting like the contrary doesn’t even exist. You hold on to your pattern like it’s the only legitimate way reality works.

Patterns are cruel because you think they’re natural, and you think natural things can’t either be good or bad. It’s just the way things are. But that’s cruel on its own.

The real evil is that one thing you don’t ever want to see. It’s the truth you keep turning away from until it catches up with you and kills you.

And I guess that’s how war destroys people. It not only tears people apart limb by limb… or crushes the hopes and memories of the lives they leave behind for good.

It plays with your mind, your heart in ways that make you almost like me.

A natural demon. A madman who’s at the mercy of his ageless instinct and experience. If there’s anyone who deserves the accusation most, it’s me. I’ve built my universe around patterns of what humans are and what they can be, that I find nothing wrong in doubting even the best of them.

I don’t expect them to be different. I don’t expect them to be anything else.

Neither do I expect to be convinced that there’s any human out there worth changing my mind about, my POV if you insist.

I stashed the letter in my coat. “Looks like we’ll have a new officer by tomorrow.”

The colonel gave me a stare like I just grew two heads. “Whatcha sayin’ kid?”

“I’m picking him up from the station. No other escorts needed. Nothing was mentioned, at least.”

“You’re a one-man army that’s why. Shit, we’re the ones to worry when you leave.”

I smile wanly. “Yeah, I’m like a living force-field or something.”

“Hey, doesn’t it flatter you one bit to know how much we’re dependin’ on you?”

“The subway’s just an hour and a half from here. I can take one of the motorbikes. It’s faster.”

“You kiddin’? What if it’s an old geezer with a ten-piece luggage?”

“I’ll ask him to ditch it. I ain’t gonna carry his bags for him.” I didn't even try to sound apologetic.

The sergeant made a low whistle. I guess it was an off-hand warning that I wasn't being a good example in the presence of a subordinate.

“I'm tellin' yah, you’re too mean for your age, kiddo. Take it easy.”

There it is again. I try not to scowl. “Whatever. I’d be back before you know it. Kill as many as you can while I’m gone. I expect loads of bodies.”

The colonel huffed. “Gods, you're too mean for your own good.”

“I ain’t good. And not trying to either.”

Sergeant Kyme shook his head. "I don't know if I could call that cool or what."

Colonel Wolverne snickered. “Yeah, well, you just haven’t found that one person to soften you up. I’m sure there’s someone out there for every one of us… some god-sent angel who’s been born to break us in pieces.”

“I hope not.” It wasn’t like I was doubting the colonel’s words then. I just know myself far more than I wish I did.

I’m a heartless killer. I kill humans and non-humans alike.

I’ve been doing it for twenty centuries… since the Savior tried to save this world. I defied him, and the curse of that defiance made me what I am.

    

**o-----)o(-----o**

 

By the time I got to the subway, the shower had become a steady drizzle. The ground was caked everywhere making my boots squeak an ugly sound when I set my foot down.

I hate the rain. It makes everything even duller than it already is, like you’re standing on an empty moor, a wasteland of pure, absolute nothingness, which reminds me of _Wuthering Heights_.

I grimace at the memory. It makes me feel like some eternally wounded beast about to devour himself, a stone-hearted Heathcliff waiting for his Catherine… waiting for the ghost of the woman he cursed. Heathcliff had hoped his cruel joke would be enough to make her loathe him so much as to ground her soul in this world so they could never be apart.

That you can bind in hate someone who wouldn’t be bound to you by love. It’s a dangerous theory. Then again, I can't tell exactly when or how that idea started seeping in, like water breaking through the tiniest cracks.

Maybe because I'm so broken and shattered I just couldn't help leaking. Or maybe a morbid imagination is what you get by reading too much fiction... though I should know better than to accuse a hobby.

If truth can be so honest, the answer should be easy: it must come from being a killer, a slayer of undead things. A demon who kills demons.

That’s almost farcical, I know. Even the rain seems to agree.

That aside, the subway Alisha mentioned couldn’t have been any other station out here. Most trains have been bombed to ashes, and this decrepit one was no exception. I could tell from the sheer complexity of subways that the amount of fixing must have been costly and time-consuming. These things need patience and secrecy. It must have taken a feat for headquarters to carry out and supervise major repairs while hiding the fact from the enemy.

Even our base had no inkling this was operational. On the outside it looked as useless as it always had, like a pile of rubble among rows and ruins of shops and buildings with smashed-in walls.

But as soon as I got down the crumbling steps into the intersecting maze of tunnels below, I saw that one was lighted faintly, sending flickers bouncing off the shabby walls. I looked around, not expecting much. It was just… really… remotely functional. You can even say it was comfortably dim, barely enough to keep you from stumbling on your own feet.

As I stood there, occasionally checking my watch, the light behind me gave a pathetic sputter as if struggling to breathe life into these dying ruins. Though it’s likely that some of the rain had managed to seep through the cracks and found its way through the wiring.

I took a single step, and the broken tiled floor crunched under my boot. I figured these things would always need maintenance. Though I can hardly say if it’s worth the risk. One bomb can just as easily destroy years of secret, hard work.

But maybe humans just don’t know when to give up. It’s a character I don’t want to admire too much, knowing I can’t afford that kind of thinking.

The only thing I can afford to give up is the hope of dying. Even if I wanted to give up on life, life wouldn’t give up on me. It’s frustrating.

Humans think life is precious and that’s where their struggle is all about. How to live and live on. Even if dying is inevitable, they’d rather plan their future and hope for the best.

I don’t get it. What’s the use of living when it’s all the same? When breathing and feeling and sleeping are just things that go on and on, involuntary processes that almost all living things do every day? Aren’t humans even curious enough to know what’s on the other side of life?

Death fascinates me because I’ll never find out what it is. I’ll suffer and endure not out of choice or character but because the world expects it. We’re doomed and bound together by one fate that I didn’t even choose for myself.  

I end when the world ends. It’s the perfect excuse to be in a hopeless war.

Need I say that all life is hopeless? Everyone disagrees with me. The colonel thinks it’s the only reason I deserve the title of _Mad Wolf_  in the army. My negativity is out of proportion with my age, he says.

What he meant was I sound like an old man with an ancient soul.

I take that as a compliment, though. Among vampires, I’m better known as _Dark Raven_. I hate titles in general ‘cause it reeks of superhero-ish things that sound superficial and naive, but there’s no helping it. Speaking of which, even our uniform makes me look like some caped crusader with this heavy mantle hanging from behind me... a sort of ceremonial robe that's even more inconvenient than it looks. I was assuming a commanding, high-ranking officer would expect nothing less on this occasion.

The train glided soundlessly in front of me. It looked smooth and light enough, not making the ground shake as much as I was expecting it would. I already guessed that this train intended to carry only one passenger. An admiral perhaps?

I’m a sufficient escort whoever he is, it’s not like anything worries me. Besides, a vampire slayer is probably the best bodyguard around.

Heck, if you can survive hosts and legions of underworld scum, you’d most likely survive anything.

I was about ready to salute. Some part of me couldn’t help expecting these arrogant bastards to be all about formality and respect.

For the first time I was wrong.

“Hello there. You must be Sorey.”

I barely heard the greeting because he was speaking as he stepped toward me. I guess I was more concerned with how I looked that I didn’t even watch for the doors of the train opening just a stride away from where I stood.

He was so lithe, so slender that the uniform looked a little too big on him. Though the heavy uniform of the military could disguise that, you could see from the belt on his waist how tiny he really was. And his height wasn’t impressive either. His head would probably be able to reach my chin if he stood on tiptoes.

But everything else… his silver hair, his thick lashes, his small, sculptured face, his eyes… those haunting eyes seemed able to look into one’s very soul, which I suddenly wished I had.

I swallowed. The moment I saw him I knew it right away.

Gods, he was beautiful... so beautiful it hurt not to look at him.

I was probably spacing out until he reached out a gloved hand. For a moment I thought he was about to give me his bag, but instead he gave me a curious look that seemed wistful... like he's secretly amused about something in private.

I stared dumbfounded before finding my manners. For a tiny second, I caught a glimpse of white skin peeking from beneath the sleeve of his coat and the top of his black glove that just about covered his wrist.

I cleared my throat as our hands touched. “That I am. Captain Sorey von Ravendalf at your service.”

His lips curled as if they were suppressing a smile. “I expected it. Alisha was nice enough to tell me lots of things about you.”

His voice. It sounded a little stern but in a soft, subdued way, like he was whispering an oath. Again, his smile looked secretive, with a hint of mockish, self-indulgent thought that makes you want to guess exactly what he’s thinking.

But really... _lots of things?_   “I didn’t know you and Alisha were friends.”

“At ease, Captain,” he said rather quickly, eyes casting a furtive glace at me. “Your girlfriend’s affections should never be doubted. In truth, I’m devoted to her hobby of talking about you.”

I didn’t know why, but I felt flustered. “Uh, just to be clear, there’s really nothing between us.”

"Well, I hope not."

My heart skipped a beat. I wondered if I heard that or just imagined it.

He turned to face the wall as if he was trying to read off something there. “Don't get me wrong, Captain. I mean, who’d even dare?”

I watched his eyes scour the faded graffiti in front of him. “Excuse me?”

He looked at me sideways. “Seriously, who’d dare come between you and Alisha? I can imagine how scary your type is. And I don’t mean Alisha. I mean you.”

I blinked at that. I don’t know exactly if, as a subordinate, I can argue with or correct that opinion. Either way I’m confused.

“I didn’t know I was making that impression.”

At this point I reached for his bag. But he anticipated my move a second sooner and whisked it behind him.

“You haven’t asked who I was. Did Alisha tell you? I had firm instructions not to let my whereabouts be known except to those who know about this operation.”

 _Operation?_ Alisha didn’t hint anything of that sort, and knowing her astute intelligence in most things, I wouldn't doubt her prudence in the matter. But neither has there been any briefing from the other officers, at least from what I was made to believe before coming here.

Somehow, that brought me back to protocol.

“I’m sorry, but Lieutenant Commander Diphda's letter didn't go into details regarding—”

“I'm glad to hear it. I’m Captain Luzrov Rulay, head of the Special Tactical Operations Unit, 9th division. We’re of equal rank so I hope we can do away with the strict formalities, Sorey.”

I don’t know about that. In the barracks, things got a little personal and casual only after the first six months of relentless hostilities from the enemy that had pounded our walls and armory to dust. We were able to secure the base after hundreds of casualties and losses that meant tanks, artillery, ammunition, and people most of all. There were days I couldn’t count the dog tags I had to keep for sending back to the families of the dead.

Survival mostly keeps you on your toes. It makes you value the people who remain standing with you, knowing it would be a miracle if you can keep it up ‘til the end. The shared tragedy and misgivings formed bonds among us that none of us were probably even aware of at the time it was happening.

I guess it’s knowing someone else is enduring the same hell, the same psychological aftermath, that you learn to develop friendships and camaraderie along the way, even in the most adverse and hostile conditions. That doesn’t sound bad at all, does it?

Nevertheless, if Captain Rulay wanted to be casual that much, I can give him that. Honestly, his size made it all the easier. He was hardly intimidating.

“So Luzrov, I guess we should be on our way?”

I reached for his bag again, but he sidestepped my gesture. I was getting frustrated.

“Mikleo.”

I frowned, not understanding it one bit.

He stopped in mid-stride. “Call me Mikleo. I let Alisha use my childhood name anyways. It makes me feel less defensive."

"I see." It should have ended there, or maybe I could have settled with something safe and neutral by asking how the weather was. After all whoever overthinks a simple conversation with a complete stranger? But for some inane reason, I just couldn't let that awkward silence dangle between us so I blurted out what was actually on my mind then.

"So does that... I mean... do you and the Commander even fight?"

His eyes widened a bit, but that was only for two seconds. He grinned ever so slightly. "I don't think so. I mean, we're too old for that, right?"

When he said that it got me thinking what his real age might be. I swear he looked nothing older than eighteen. But given my own physical age, I guess I've no right to tease. 

He lifted his chin thoughtfully. "Rather, I guess you can say we have... debates?"

Before I knew it I was the one smiling. "Yeah, right, I stand corrected. But I guess that means you and Alish-I mean, the Commander, must be pretty close."

"I don't know how to deny that."

"You wouldn't," was all I could say, but I couldn't help grinning at my self-directed sarcasm. He was quick to notice and gave me an amused smile.

"Well, it puzzles me how _any_ guy can deny such a beautiful woman who holds him in high esteem. To think Alisha's not the type to like men easily."

"I must apologize to the Commander then." I offered.

"So... you do know how much she likes you."

He was obviously teasing, though his tone remained neutral. I frowned a bit.

"I guess I should apologize for that one too?" 

I heard him sigh. "Want my advice, Captain Ravendalf?"

Even without looking I could feel his stern expression suppressing a smile.

"You should beg on your knees or roll over and make barking sounds."

"Wh-what! Does she even like dogs?"

He burst out laughing, and it was strangely contagious that I found myself joining him. He paused, and right then I felt his gaze linger for just a little more than three seconds before he cleared his throat and looked away.    

"I'm certain no man would mind making a fool of himself for Alisha. Her forgiveness is worth that and even more."

"How about you?" I didn't know exactly why I blurted that out. "I'm sure you've dealt with a lot of fools yourself."

"Not really. I never had to."

"Only because you never gave them a chance."

"Huh?" He looked sideways, and I could tell from his profile that his curiosity was piqued.

"I could imagine someone giving you a kiss and making a confession, but you got angry and and asked that person to do five hundred push-ups."

"Really? Do I seem _that_ cruel? But your point is, anyone would have given up, right?" 

"Maybe some," I answered back with a huff of confidence. "But not everyone would."

He stopped in mid-stride, which got me overthinking what I might have actually said. He looked at me over his shoulder, and for a minute I wondered if I was going to be in trouble.

"I'll make sure Alisha knows you're all right with five hundred push-ups then. Just to be fair."

I blinked at that, and he smirked at me as if to say the whole thing's unofficial and I shouldn't _dare_ quote him on anything. For one tiny second something inside me quivered. I didn’t plan on getting stiff right here, but my cock was getting harder every minute since the conversation started…

“But seriously," he tells me, "I have a bit of a temper. So if I'm being unreasonable and stubborn, you might address me by that name just to remind me... that you do understand that I can't always be as perfect as my better side is.”

I cocked an eyebrow at that without thinking. “Oh, you mean _this_ side?”

That was a slip. He caught the humor in my tone, the one that I was suppressing myself.

“So it’s not as obvious to you, is it?”

I looked sideways at him but didn’t dare answer that. It would sound like teasing, and that part of me is already twitching uncomfortably. I hated the idea though the feeling was something else.

My crazy state of arousal was, in fact, just... crazy. If I say it's shocking, one might think I'm selling myself as a hopeless, pure-hearted virgin, which I'm not really so sure about. Whichever the case, no one has ever been able to make my body react this way too quickly. I decided to walk ahead of him while ignoring that anxious bit of a warning inside of me that said I wasn't exactly conducting myself in a manner expected of an escort.

I hastened my steps up the surface without once looking back. The rain pelted my face as soon as we rose from the darkness.

“So it rains here too, I guess…”

I looked behind me. He was standing there like a statue, his face tilted to meet the rain. Drops of it cascaded down his cheeks, then his chin, outlining his sculptured face that seemed illuminated by the shallow light of that pale, afternoon sky above us.

I couldn’t look away. I could imagine that the dark, green shade of his uniform matched his fair skin and hair that glowed against the dark, rough texture of his coat. And his hair was even more silver in these surroundings, making him seem like an angel bathed in an unearthly mist of light.

The rain continued to trickle around us, and I just stood there, mesmerized. I couldn’t see colors, and that got me wondering how I’ve managed so far, not seeing things the way others see them.

But with this vision, it didn’t seem like my colorless world even mattered. It was enough that I could see this beauty behind a black-and-white lens, giving life to that infinite grey that stretched like forever between me and the horizon.

“Captain Sorey von Ravendalf..." His voice was suddenly thoughtful, like he was trying to recall something. "I hope you don't mind the rain too much. I didn’t want our first meeting to be... depressing.”

I looked away, trying to ignore the heat growing inside of me that makes the rain easier to ignore this time. “I don’t like the climate in general so I can’t even fault the weather.”

He seemed to be thinking about this. I took advantage of his distraction to take his bag from him. 

I noticed that his one-piece luggage was unbelievably light. For some reason I was worried that he didn’t plan on staying that long. He must have noticed the way I was frowning at the weight in my hand.

“I was in a hurry to pack. I didn’t want to give headquarters the chance to change their minds about this. Besides... we're all men. I'm sure you have stuff that I can use.”

I strongly doubt that, and I wanted to tell him this. He's nothing like a man even from my perspective. Not to mention that vampires can sense these things differently from humans.

"I'll try to help with anything I can," I ended up saying instead.   

When he turned to face me, I was able to confirm how beautiful his eyes really were. I almost wanted to ask him what color they were, though that would just be something left to my imagination.

“I hope we can be real good friends," he tells me, his smile so vague it was almost imaginary, which I hoped it wasn't. "Alisha said I could trust you with my life.”

I wanted to reach out and touch his face to know how real he was. He looked so soft and vulnerable, like someone who had just run away from home and didn’t want to be found.

It’s crazy, but for a second it felt like we were eloping, or about to run away to our honeymoon.

I stopped the thought. That's certainly light years away from where we are now.

“As the Commander expects of me, I’d protect you with my life. With my all if that’s what it takes.”

"Careful there." His tone was subdued. "I might actually ask for it."

I held his gaze. "I'm ready to deliver."

He looked away quickly, but I noticed his sidelong glances just the same. “I think I understand the Commander's feelings now," he began softly, as if whispering to himself. "To have someone like you... someone who trusts without question, who's loyal and devoted to a fault is just about everything a woman could ever hope for in a man...”

I couldn't tell why, but for some reason, his misunderstanding was starting to upset me. I took his hand and held onto it, unsure if I had any reason to. I just felt it was the best way I could tell him how sincere I was.

“This rain is freezing. I don’t want you to catch a cold or anything.”

“Sorey, I’m also a soldier. I'm not that weak…”

The way he said my name seemed to have awakened something inside of me. I pulled him toward me, not knowing how light he really was until he landed easily against my chest. I removed my coat and wrapped it around him. I felt him quiver when my hand went around his waist to secure the knot in front of it.

When I looked up, our faces must be both flushed. I could sense he saw something that made him step back and look away in embarrassment.

Or maybe he knew he was all shades of red by now. Even in this rain I could tell what red would look like in black and white, and his cheeks darkened that way.

“You’re shivering.” I could sense the tremor beneath the coat. He must be suppressing it, but I could tell from the way his shoulders moved that he was.

“I think I’d live through this. Your base can’t be that far.”

"That's kinda true," I conceded. But still, something worries me after seeing how frail he really was beneath that stiff self-composure he was trying to show.

I frowned in concern. “But Mikleo, look, if five minutes can make you shake this much, I don’t think you’d last an hour on a bike.”

His eyes widened, maybe because it was the first time I called him by that name.

"Sorey, I already have your coat. It's pretty warm though I feel guilty taking it."

I could only watch him from beneath dripping lashes. Then without knowing what I was doing, my hands pulled the coat tight around his neck, letting my fingers linger nervously over the unbuttoned collar of it. 

I mumbled that it was partly my fault. If I had taken the colonel’s advice…

He shook his head. “Let’s just get out of this rain, Sorey. The sooner the better.”

We exchanged gazes a little bit awkwardly, letting trickles drivel down our lips and chin. Even in the dull, frigid atmosphere of that sun-grey sky, his beauty drew my eyes and breath to it like it was a sin to look away.

Everything in that moment felt like gravity. I saw his hand reach up to pull off the scarf around his neck. Then he tilted his face up, his hand reaching out toward me. 

We almost collided when we stepped forward to meet each other halfway. I ignored the rain pelting my eyelids just so I could see his face up close. 

His scarf felt warm, but not even close to the burning heat that flared inside of me. When he finally stepped back, I knew it was all over.

It was over for me even before it started to be like this. It was just like that old movie...

He had me at hello.

I couldn't forget the feel of his eyes, his breath on me. If anything my manhood was raging now, and it was only with every bit of self-control left in me that I didn’t shred his uniform right there and then and make a mess of him.

Gods, how he would look all messed up, pupils blown, rippling with ecstasy and lust as he whimpers and moans beneath me. I want to hear him beg in that voice of his, to beg me to take him, to come inside of him and be his completely. My cock persistently throbbed at the thought of it.

Then he shivered, and I cursed myself for forgetting. “I think we might find a suitable shelter here somewhere if we look hard enough…”

“I'm sorry, Captain. I’m the one who needs it more so I'm the one who should be handling this problem.”

I was watching his lips as he spoke. I wondered if he could tell how much I was shivering underneath my jacket. But not from the rain or because I've given up my coat.

“I think we're both going to need it,” I told him, daring to inch closer. For one minute I lost all reason to be shy.

He raised an eyebrow as if he didn’t expect that response. “On the other hand, Captain Sorey von Ravendalf, I think you're perfect under any weather... like there's nothing in the world that could ever faze you.”

I swallowed hard, my eyes grazing his eyes, his lips. I’ve never felt this hungry or starved before. He met my gaze unflinchingly.

“Nothing does or ever did,” I told him, catching my breath. “Until you...”

In a second, the whole world seemed to have fallen and disappeared beneath me as I reached out and took him by the collar and kissed him. I felt his hands on my chest as if to push me away, and his lips quivered against mine, in fear or disgust I couldn’t tell.

All I know is I want him, gods, how much I want to taste him, to have him come undone against my hardened cock, my groin that wants to grind itself senseless against his soft, lithe body.

I wouldn’t have known how hard and desperate that kiss was until I tasted blood. I finally let him push me away. I don’t know how this happened, but for the first time in my life, I knew I was in real danger… the kind of danger that makes you want to fall into it headlong without a care.

I knew right away that even with all those years of ruthless killing behind me, there were some things in this universe that could be even more frightening, more painfully cruel, and I wasn't as tough as I made myself believe I was.

 

   **o)------------o)O(o------------(o**

 

 


	3. Smokeless Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorey and Mikleo are caught in the rain that seems just about ready to turn into a storm... but something more frightening than their feelings is about to reach them from a place neither one expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The original story behind Tales of Zestiria and Tales of Zestiria the X belongs to Bandai-Namco and Ufotable respectively. Since the writer makes no profit from this labor of love and, in fact, struggles against shame and hopeless obsession every time she has to write an additional chapter for her self-pleasure and that of others like her, she respectfully makes a plea against any law suit. :D
> 
> Obsession has no shame, by the way. You’ve been warned. ^_^

 

**o)------------o)O(o------------(o**

_I cut you into pieces_

_Searching for your imperfections_

_I had plans to make you whole_

_But all my threads couldn’t stop the bleeding_

_There’s nothing left, but I’m not leaving_

_When all I know is you…_

_I’ve been looking for a way to bring you back to life_

_And if I could find a way_

_Then I would bring you back tonight_

_I’d make you look, I’d make you lie_

_I’d take the coldness from your eyes_

_But you told me, if you love me…_

_Let it die._

_Your eyes stare right through me_

_Ignoring my failed attempts to_

_Breathe back life into your veins_

_But I can’t start your cold heart beating_

_You’re so far gone, but I’m not leaving_

_When all I know is you…_

_And you left me..._

_More dead than you’ll ever know_

_When you left me… alone..._

 

-originally by **Starset** , “Let it Die,”

performed by **Fifty Shades of Death** for **_Inferno’s Ballad_**

 

**o)------------o)O(o------------(o**

By the time we found a shelter it was raining harder, forming a steamy sort of mist that camouflaged the filled-up craters we virtually trudged into as we headed for the smaller buildings among ruins of skyscrapers that hid the horizon from view.

Mikleo was dripping wet, no wetter than I am. He shook the mud off his boots with self-conscious wariness as if he knew I was looking.

The shameless truth was I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off him since he stepped out of that train. And it’s not like I wasn’t expecting the slap that nearly took my head off either, right after that stolen kiss. Back there, I was clearly in the wrong for assaulting him even if what drove me to be so daring was an intense attraction I’d never felt before. I was also aware that my motives would seem incredulous in the eyes of cold logic. It hadn’t been an hour since Mikleo—the reputable captain of the 9th division—and I met, and under the behest of no less than a common friend and superior, Lieutenant Commander Alisha Diphda.

For having betrayed that trust so quickly not to mention foregoing standard protocol and procedure, I probably deserved a worse punishment. I swore I’d gladly accept anything worse than a slap if in doing so the captain who had smitten my heart with his breathless smile and quiet gaze would forgive me.

To be honest, I wasn't even sorry that I kissed him. Though I had already apologized for my behavior, I couldn’t say I regret what I did. More than anything, the kiss brought with it a flood of sensations and memories that I’ve probably buried so deep down inside me for years—for centuries—that I needed something so earth-shaking to roil them up.

It may have been just mouths and lips meeting for ten seconds. But compared with ten… twenty centuries of my previous life, it was a turning point that shattered everything I’ve come to believe and wanted to believe.

For the first time in a long while, I realized I still needed… those things. I used to think that my manhood was completely dead or numb to the world. But all it took was one look, one smile, a short conversation under the rain and suddenly, I realized I had needs, urges…

I realized I have deep, desperate hungers that could only be satisfied in bed with another man.

I knew that something inside of me was very much alive and hopelessly craving for something more persuasive than momentary distractions or temporary peace. When I pressed those delicate lips against mine, I realized I still have a heart that could be excited by anything other than the chance to shoot at an enemy target… or a body that could tingle with the faintest hint of a smile... a fleeting shadow of a smile frozen silver in the rain.

I found out that there had been a frustrated yearning inside of me that ached like an open wound, and I was more than just a dispassionate, blood-sucking realist vainly searching for some enlightened insight into the meaning of his meaningless existence.

For the first time I actually felt like saying _I’m alive, gods I’m alive!_ I never thought there would come a day that I would think of life as a necessary joy. Or that there might be another, a _better_ reason to live other than to kill and be killed.  

As if nature had felt betrayed by my sudden change of heart, the smokeless-grey skies above us darkened into a threatening shade of coal that promised a whole night of rain.

It was starting to get depressing. For a minute I wondered what the colonel and the others might think if I didn’t get back by nightfall. Then again, nobody wants to get caught in the night rain up a field where a platoon might be passing through. It’s hard enough to see your hand in front of your face in conditions like these, even harder to discern enemy or friend when the insipid darkness swallows everything in sight—face, uniform, even shadows themselves. The stupid rule “shoot anything that moves in the dark” makes it even worse, as passwords become virtually useless when the one who’s about to pull the trigger on you hardly remembers the same even if you get it right.

And there’s more to it than just imagined fear. The uncanny stress that the darkness hides is real. It festers in the back of one's mind like ghostly visions… like when that same soldier asking you to identify yourself begins to suspect you’re about to throw a grenade at him, or you intend to jump into the same slit trench so you could shoot him first.

Under duress, the brain stops intellectualizing to the point that there seems to be no room for any other information in your head save your first name and how to fire that weapon in your hand. Soldiers are given codes for the gunner or the FOOs (forward observation officers) to be able to discern friendlies that might step into their line of fire. But that never works in the middle of confusion and chaos, when every unit is just following one, unspoken rule: keep running, take cover, and shoot.

And the more abominable truth is, you never get to say sorry to the ones who die in front of you. Even if it’s your fault for shooting down your own man, you’re always told it’s not your fault, no, it could never be entirely your fault…

Because getting caught in the cross-fire just means what it does: there are boundaries that should never be crossed at all, and when you do, there’s really no one to blame but yourself. As Colonel Wolverne and the others say, the dead can demand no apologies if the living ain’t got ears for the dead.  

Back when I was in _No Man’s Land_ , freshly varnished crosses marking the open graves of soldiers caught in such horrors were enough to inspire grief and summon churning disgust. The trek through Normandy then Holland and Germany as a front-liner was easily, in the haphazard memoirs of any World War II veteran, the worst nightmare nobody wanted to write about or even remember.

Even for someone like me who looks at death as a reprieve, I could say the same. Halfway through the carnage you see left and right, you start to have mixed feelings about killing as many as you can to end the war tomorrow. This attitude is almost normal for any soldier who’s just had his first taste of killing fatigue in the gun pits where he had experienced shooting rounds continuously for forty-eight hours with neither food nor sleep.

But there comes a point when you start thinking of yourself as a mindless machine being used in a grand conspiracy of sorts that’s no different from a video game. You start wondering where the quit button went to and whether the enemy were even real. Crowded by death every which way you turn, the dead faces of the fallen enemy slowly become a distant memory, and you find yourself unable to dig up enough hate and pride to rouse the feeling of vindication.

Instead, you start asking yourself if the waste was worth it. Fallen church steeples and spires, smashed cathedrals and bell towers might make an architect weep past consolation. But innocent blood spilled in battle—from those who barely knew what life was all about before it was taken from them—gets you thinking what normal people don’t want to ever think about at all.

Where was power when you needed it the most? The power to change things for the good, to change the world for the better? When the gods play deaf, who can the powerless turn to? Who can redeem them from the horrors dealt by those who should have been there to die in their place?

Not me. I can only take away the memories of the dying, assuage the agony that kills the heart of even the most courageous. The intense pain that screams in their blood asking me to drink all of their hate, their suffering and heartache during those final moments makes it almost a miracle I hadn’t surrendered to the same madness long ago when I started doing it.

When I touch someone, I _see_ their lies and shadows… When I drink the blood of the dying I soak up not only the disorienting agony that comes from the wounds of the flesh—blown up body parts, severed limbs, bleeding organs—but also the fears that the human soul has to wrestle with before it’s finally freed from the burning hell of pain that transforms both body and mind into a screaming vessel of undignified hate.

Amidst the storm of shells and mortar, of bombs and gas, I try to find my way through the carnage. Like a crow guarding death’s door, I’d be there among the dying, doing my best to staunch the bleeding and the noise of anguish that tells you that your comrade’s sanity has left him even before his last breath did.

I guess you can say it’s a curse of mine to know exactly when someone’s soul is about to leave this world for whatever’s out there—that one place even I’m not allowed to see. If you start doubting whether humans have souls, you can ask me about it. I’m cursed with the vision of seeing something I myself don’t have, a vision of what I could never have.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons I’ve been able to keep my mind about me despite the horrible ordeal of sucking the worst agonies of human life. There must be something I haven’t seen or tasted yet, something about humanity that keeps me alive and hoping for the impossible.

I could go on and on thinking about things I could never change when a slight movement rouses me. I was brusquely reminded that my mind had been wandering again.

Mikleo probably felt I was brooding on that slap I got. He strode past me a little too hurriedly but not before whispering just a little over my shoulder.

“I think I’m going to need a room for myself. I need to get out of this uniform before I freeze to death.”

Mikleo’s profile shone like a mist of light among the shadows, and suddenly, I found myself chasing it. I caught his wrist before he could move more than a step away. And this time I held onto it until he had to turn around to face me.

“Sorey, what are you even—”

I pulled him toward me and started unbuttoning him from the neck down.

“H-hey, I can do that myself—”

“I know you can, but that’s not it,” I told him firmly, not wanting to be convinced otherwise. My arousal has been throbbing senseless since we’ve entered these ruins even as I felt him shiver beneath my fingers. “Let me do it for you, Captain, just for tonight…”

Mikleo stared at me as if I’ve completely lost my mind. I was waiting for him to struggle and push me away, maybe even kick at me, but even the slap I was expecting never came.

He sighed a deep one, making a sound that got my attention more than any violence he could have inflicted to protect his honor.

“Can—can you wait just a minute, _Captain_?” His voice mimicked mine though the sarcasm was more subdued than I’ve heard it that day. “I’ve never done this… I mean… it’s not like I’m… I’m rejecting you…”

I looked up and suddenly, I couldn’t help thinking how cute that was. He was frowning in a hurt, confused way that made him look like some inexperienced teenager who couldn’t make up his mind. There were traces of stubborn innocence in his defeated gaze that made me realize he was doing his damnest best to regain some bit of self-composure under my scrutiny.

I could tell easily that the slap he had given me under the rain when I kissed him was nothing more than just an involuntary reaction rather than an absolute warning. Then again, I must be telling myself this for the reason that my body refused to be persuaded by threats. My attraction for the captain has gone past any threshold of decency or self-control that might even try to hold it back. Awakened by the throbbing heat of pure, wild lust, my body seems to have a mind of its own when I tilted his chin up and kissed him.  

He tried to break the kiss, but this time I didn’t—couldn’t let him even try.

I pushed his arm behind him and groaned in his mouth as I wedged my knee between his legs. I could no longer hide the fact that my cock’s been swelling stiff this entire time, making it impossible for him not to see it tenting my pants from under the fringes of my jacket. As I mold my body against his, I was almost sure he could feel my hardened desire right between his legs.

As my tongue grazed his, I couldn’t help grunting my frustration against his breathless lips as my fingers searched for a place to hold him closer. It was impossible not to want him this much, to pass up the chance of making a move on him with his body exuding this kind of sweet-spicy fragrance, this kind of musky-vanilla, lavender scent that was calling to my blood. Suddenly my yearning is greedy for more… more of this scent, this closeness, more of his body pressed crushingly against mine, grinding right against my swelling heat, sheathing my hot, rigid lust if possible…

I held him by the waist as I pushed my tongue farther inside his mouth, my knee finding the perfect position to grind against his inner thighs. It felt so good my mind was reeling from the pleasure. I couldn’t care less if there were bombs flying over us, or snipers targeting our position from some fallen tower or vantage point.

All I cared about was how Mikleo's awkward inexperience was turning me on. The way his mouth hesitated, the way his teeth got in the way when I tried to move my tongue past it, I felt like roughing him up even more to show him how I intend to ravish this delicious innocence of his. I couldn't help molding myself against his small, lithe body as if my desire was desperate to engrave itself into his memory, and before I knew it my hands were cupping his back thighs, those round cheeks that filled my palms perfectly as I massaged them, hoping to awaken his arousal as much as he did mine.

I heard him suppress a moan desperately as he pushed me away when my fingers felt for his erection. I was surprised to find the moisture seeping the fabric of his uniform right there, on that point where I was massaging his cock. He gasped when I felt him throb, and his sudden impulse to try and escape me was even more revealing. His cheeks felt warm as I pulled him by the nape and cradled his head against my shoulder to keep him still while I waited for my own breathing to calm down.

 _This is bad_ , I realized it now as his lustful scent pulled me into a trance. I knew I couldn’t live tonight without having him at least once, without marking every inch of his white, lean body. Now more than ever I wanted to thrust my rigid cock into the deepest part of him and make him scream my name... make him beg me to come.

Tonight, I must have him no matter what.

I kissed his silver hair under my chin. We were both panting like crazy... like we’ve just run a mile even though our bodies parted quickly enough before I could do worse things to him. I felt him shiver though his forehead felt so warm against the crook of my neck. I’m sure he could feel my fingers tremble just the same as they traced an invisible line along the slender arch of his nape, loving the smooth feel of his skin warming at my slightest touch.

I wanted to kiss that warmth away, to suck on that innocent, creamy-white skin peeking from the parted collar of his coat. The pure whiteness of it, the tingling scent of it provoked my instinctive urges senseless, filling me with a churning hunger that I haven’t felt for centuries since my awakening, since the time I was reborn as this monster, this soul-less vampire cursed to live through the ages.

No, despite the seduction of both sexes of my kind, I haven’t allowed myself to feel this bitter-sweet temptation before, this overwhelming lust that only we, forsaken demons, could ever be truly capable of.   

I knew right then that this was it, this was the urge that drove troves of vampires to madness more than ten centuries ago when I fought every single one of them. 

It was this, finally… the forbidden hunger I was told to be wary of, though I was supposed to be immune to it, even if a _Pure Blood_ might offer him or herself to me.

I’ve been told that it was one of those things that make me different. I suppose almost everyone thought I was  _the_ perfect warrior because unlike others, I have no natural mate. Or rather, there's no vampire out there who possesses the type of blood that resonates with mine.

You may think of resonance among vampires as almost similar to romance, just that it's a little _too_ intense for comfort. It comes to a point that one is compelled to obey only the will of his mate, which ultimately binds him to his or her side as the _Chosen_ , the eternal partner and lifelong companion that a vampire must hold above everything and everyone else, against all odds.

And while human romance traverses the thin line between lust and love, ours is completely ignorant of these boundaries. Vampires would rather conceive of this irresistible attraction as a sort of forbidden fruit that once tasted and consumed becomes inseparable from one’s blood. Like poison, it seeps into the very marrow of one’s being, killing one’s will and sometimes even sanity.

But there is that one strain of poison among vampires, which they say resonates with any kind of blood, whether vampire or human. It’s almost ironic that the mythical beast that possesses this kind of enchantment, the power to draw out one’s rabid lust toward it, is called an _Untouchable_. It's an overused name you've probably heard before, and your guess is as good as mine as to the logic behind that name.

An Untouchable's capacity to induce obsessive desire is _one-sided_. 

An Untouchable is so-named because it is an unfeeling, indifferent creature _incapable_ of loyalty or affection.

An Untouchable chooses _no one_ and belongs to no one. Much worse, this sort of vampire is said to be capable of killing its mate in the heat of lovemaking.

I’ve never seen the fact to replace the myth to be entirely sure. In my twenty centuries with the living, I’ve never really seen or met one in my life. Before I’ve become part of the Ravendalf clan, I was a mercenary who’d kill my own kind for a good reason and a good price. Sometimes, the former did not even matter. By the end of the French Revolution—perhaps the single, most important historical event to inspire our kind to formulate similar principles of equality, of law and order based on rational and moral standards—the Ravendalfs had commissioned me to help bring about the creation of a permanent system of law and order within our race. The grand scheme was to unite everyone under a single rule of law, a power that would force the world to recognize the existence of a single vampire nation, as awkward as that sounded then.

The concept of race must be complicated, I realized. Races race against each other, as if the race to the top is all that matters.

And leaving everyone behind is all that counts. 

Killing bullshit, I knew that the personal implications of that command were hardly noble: I was to participate in a war that might settle the question as to who must lead this godawful nation they want to proclaim to the world. It was purely a political question, a matter of who's strong enough, or efficient and effective enough to rally everyone under one banner—under one, binding law and authority.

This single power came to be known as the _Throne_.

To say the least I didn’t need any other motivation to kill vampires save the fact that the bastards had turned me against my will. These shadows of darkness had awakened me into something I've never dreamed of becoming. The fact that these depraved monsters could and had, in fact, wreaked havoc throughout history may invite human societies to view this protracted civil war among our kind as more than favorable to human survival.

As for me, I needed no other reason than the fact that the things I had to kill were vampires. The matter about the Throne—the dream of a single vampire nation under one law and one ruler—was just another reason to exterminate the underworld scum that I loathe. 

Like I always say, if it’s cold-blooded murder they want, I’m here to slaughter. I need no highfalutin reason or purpose to make the task more acceptable to someone who has felt from the very beginning that vampires should never have been awakened or borne to this world.

As things would have it, the wars left only three families standing behind the ruling clan: the Houses of Ravencrowe, Ravenwolfe, and Ravendalf. Each was named according to its vital link to the underworld monarchy, the ruling order that was to govern the vampire nation in this hell on earth.

Irony of ironies the power struggles I had thought would bring about our eventual downfall only strengthened the very same existence I’ve been wanting to end.  

More than half a millennia had passed since then. If you could call those years peaceful by the absence of war, maybe they were. But peace is never without its dis-contents. Five centuries must have been long enough for adversity to remain quiet before I was summoned again for an extraordinary undertaking.

By this time, the Throne had already firmly established itself as the one, rightful, sovereign power to rule over the vampire underworld. It was dominated by the Pure Bloods, the first vampires ever to walk the earth, and who logically must have discovered the secrets to triggering the awakening of so many others, the first generation of which was known as the _First Bloods_.

It was the Pure Bloods, or rather the _House of Derrilvion_ , which had me summoned to speak before the Council of Elysia, and for which I was forced to return from a long retirement. The Elysians are an orthodox group made up of the most powerful figures in the world—an elite circle of masters in their own right either by sheer talent, genius, or influence in the realm of business and politics. They’re the herald-gods of the underworld, the unholy senate who passes judgment on how things ought to be in the world of humans and demons. Nothing gets out or gets done without their sanction and approval.

So it was from them that I learned how a fatal mutation had spread among the First Bloods, creating a dangerous breed of vampires, a preying cannibalistic breed that hunt down and feed on Pure Bloods alone.

As the Masters of the Throne, the Pure Bloods conceive of any threat to their existence as a threat to the existence of all vampires. There are many layers to the binding power and authority behind the Throne, which not only applies to the Pure Bloods but to all vampires who have ever existed. For one, there is the absolute law, the Primus Codex—the unholy bible and foundation of the vampire underworld. The same is enforced by the so-called _Windstalkers_ , the official law enforcement unit of the underworld and the ones tasked with the arrest and arraignment of vampires charged with crimes in the Elysian courts.

I don’t know exactly how the courts decide each case, but there seems to be a lot of resemblance with current judiciary systems anywhere else. Each court is made up of a tribunal consisting of a judge addressed as _Justice_ , and a jury that gives its verdict. Crime and punishment are defined within the bounds of the Primus Codex and the unbreakable will of the orthodoxy that operates behind the Throne itself. As an overarching principle though, only those who rightly claim jurisdiction over the accused and the subject of the crime may exercise the power to grant pardons and amnesty, or commute sentences whenever the reason and the need arise.

The matter of jurisdiction is itself an issue fraught with ugly confrontations and tensions from which most political conflicts have taken root. It's a question of authority and power... who gets to say who's guilty and under which law his punishment must be determined. This sounds theoretical, but it's really practical if you think about it. I can give you one crude example: imagine a vampire committing homicide in London when they're both New Yorkers. Definitely the Elysian Courts of London and New York would have to decide which of them has the proper authority to try the case. The problem becomes a little bit more complex if you have a New Yorker vampire in London committing the same crime against humans and vampires in that city. You're up against both human and vampire courts fighting over the matter of jurisdiction over the case. 

The bigger problem, however, lies elsewhere. It's possible that these so-called authorities resist submitting to anybody _else's_ authority when the law they seek to uphold starts working against them.

I hate to state the obvious, but I've seen this far too often that I just have to say it: power used wisely creates order; wielded carelessly, it sows anarchy and dissent.

And it doesn't take a lover of history to acknowledge the plain, simple truth that oppression creates the very structures of its own oppression... and that the use and abuse of power could shatter the foundations of even the most formidable of empires. You have Europe to thank for that too.

In our case, it started with the Windstalkers.

More specifically known back then as the Guardian Enforcers of the underworld, the Windstalkers are a breed on their own. They're winged vampires endowed with other extraordinary strengths and abilities that set them apart from _other_ First Bloods. Their superior strength made them ideal for the task reserved for them by the Pure Bloods, which as you might have already guessed had to do with providing protection for the Throne, the House of Derrilvion, the Elysian Council, and the High Tribunal, all of which were made up of Pure Bloods themselves. Unfortunately, with the mutation spreading among the First Bloods, the Windstalkers lost the support of the very masters whom they sought to serve. Their demotion eventually led to demoralization and stagnation, which quickly eroded relations between the two. 

You can imagine the feeling of betrayal on both sides, and the consequences that follow when ties of trust and loyalty are broken beyond consolation.

Exterminating the Windstalkers did not prove an easy task; most of them were from the House of Ravenwolfe, by far the strongest of the three Guardian clans. Nevertheless, the two remaining houses—the Ravencrowe and Ravendalf clans—had to work together to suppress the _Rebellion_ , the first stage of which involved the rise of the Windstalkers against the powers behind the Throne.

Sarcasm aside, I never thought fighting human bats could be so difficult. I believe that the unique abilities that mark each breed of vampires are not so much imbued in the blood as more a matter of which dominant component has been awakened in it. Given that only the Masters of the Throne and its secret societies possess the key to the true nature of this awakening, there is no true, common knowledge ever written to confirm how vampires come or even came to exist. Even among vampires, the mere desire to take hold of such knowledge is taboo of the highest order, a crime punishable by death that only the Justices of Elysia may enforce against any member of the race. As human laws likewise decree, killing among vampires in any other situation is lawless and may be punished by death upon final conviction by the Elysian courts or the High Tribunal.

Arguably, it is to this tradition of utmost secrecy regarding the awakening that vampires owe their survival through the centuries. It seems obvious that both humans and vampires—or those which have been targeting the Pure Bloods—could never hope to annihilate a race that lives by the sheer will of the Throne. To accomplish such a feat requires conspiracy and betrayal of the most hideous kind within the Throne itself, which alone had the capacity to impart the secrets of our existence, the very conditions that make us both mortal and immortal.

It follows that no power could ever hope to rise against the faceless Masters of the Throne who have established the very foundations of the boundless vampire underworld, our nation of shadows that secretly influence all the known governments of the human world. The absolute law of the Throne and the subservience to it of the strongest among us should be more than enough to overcome any odds that would threaten the power and position of the Pure Bloods. As progenitors, they are treated like gods, the ones who have given rise to the first generation of vampires ever to walk the face of the earth, the First Bloods.

Even I cannot begin to suspect how and to what extent the Pure Bloods’ power has seeped into the very fiber of our being, how our capacities are most likely borne of machinations favorable to the existence of the Throne, in the interest of perpetuating its power in this godforsaken empire of lies and shadows.

It’s clear that the ruling clan of Pure Bloods, the House of Derrilvion to be exact, which governs the entire vampire underworld, has already thought of everything as to how we should conduct ourselves in the human world. The terms and conditions of our existence have already been set in stone by the very same ones who have awakened us into this knowledge: that we are a superior race borne to inherit the earth. Having discovered the ultimate and only way to identify and awaken the dormant vampire asleep in the human subconscious, they gave rise to generations of vampires which, in time, gave the entire race an indubitable place in history, solidifying its position in almost every area of human life in all the known corners of the world today.

To cut the story short, the battles I’ve fought back then, which eventually earned me the title and reputation I now have as one of the knight-commanders of the only clan of vampires left standing after the Third Stage, were all part of a simulated war between and among the Pure Bloods and the tainted First Bloods. One must understand that the crux and center of vampire politics revolves around the one and only essence of a vampire’s source of loyalty—the clan. And clans are unique in themselves for unlike human cultures, ours are never held together by blood ties.

But that doesn’t explain exactly why vampires have hardly changed through the ages—why they continue with the seemingly obsessive-compulsive need to annihilate any vampire breed or organization out there should it dare to live outside the control and authority of the Throne.

Maybe the real reason is different from what I understand, but what I _do_ understand is really quite simple and makes just as much sense.

Vampires only mate, they never procreate. They can’t increase their own line by giving birth so they never had to engage in such urges for the purpose of self-preservation. Something in it almost sounds romantic as vampires do seem to be creatures whose loyalties are always governed by choice, never by need or any concept of commitment or responsibility. The only way vampires may bound themselves to each other is either by love or by hate. Loyalties mean everything, and that includes absolute faith and trust in one’s chosen partner.

And partners are lifetime choices. 

It seems ironic and somewhat confusing then that for vampires, love and lust are never the basis for choosing a partner. They keep their loyalties separate from the same emotions that humans regard as important in keeping a relationship. This is why, quite conveniently, vampires can, and are allowed to, mate rabidly with whoever they choose without threatening their relationships with and loyalties to their chosen partners. Neither guilt nor conscience that morally defines almost every grain of acceptable behavior in human cultures has to be contemplated by vampires when it comes to forging unbreakable bonds and establishing mutual trust and respect.

Mating is purely conceived as a primal urge. Partnerships are entirely different and independent of anything sexual. Strange as it seems, it’s established by a resonance that’s not always deeper but more persuasive and inherent. You can almost say that settling down with an eternal companion, a partner or a _Chosen_ is a blood-calling that goes beyond sex and lust, and maybe even love if such is merely contemplated as feelings and passions that move the soul, though more often than not is a temporary bond that shifts with changes in preference.

For vampires, _Chosens_ are permanent choices. A Chosen pair need not mate exclusively to define who they are to each other because the bond simply outlives anything else.   

I must admit, though, that it’s not a pretty sight when you compare vampire and human mating rituals as I’ve seen it. Vampires engage in massive, crowded, sexual orgies that happen only with the rise of a blood moon in the night sky, the only moon that persuades the dormant, primitive instinct in our blood to awaken to the call of the flesh, and which makes vampires weak and defenseless against any temptation of the sexual kind.

The orgy is not even extraordinary by the limits of the humanly possible. It doesn’t involve mere tens or hundreds of vampires mating like wild dogs in heat. Like a holocaust of locusts, they flock by the thousands. Driven by the lust-filled scent of their awakened urges, they lay bare their naked desires among the open ruins of the wild, under the glaring view of the blood-red moon, where they soak and drown in each other’s heat for hours until the moon wanes on them.

The madness is driven by nothing but sex and the urge to mate with as many as possible. Male and female differences are irrelevant as procreation is not even an innate function that works the same way as it does for humans. For vampires, organs are mere pleasure points designed to give that sense of heightened bliss, which must go beyond any physical craving imaginable. From what others say, one might deduce that a vampire’s aroused state must be magnified at least a hundred times, just as all their senses surpass the abilities possessed by humans by a hundredfold.

If vampires never give birth to their own kind, then you might also infer that vampires are awakened into what they are at the right time, under perfect conditions and with only the proper combination of methods, whatever they are. Birth and death are never a part of a vampire’s cycle of existence, which is driven by one other thing… to eat and be eaten, to kill and be killed.

And this is where the secret becomes even more amusing.

We are immortal among humans but not against ourselves. When you realize how the insect world thinks about the human world, about the fact that none of their superfluous attacks could ever be enough to kill or drive away the giant human pest that’s invading and destroying their world with such insulting ease, you’d realize that the situation is really no different for vampires living among humans.

Put in another way, it’s not that vampires are truly invincible—immortal creatures who alone have evolved far enough to be able to cheat and defy death. Rather, it’s a fact that only vampires have the means to annihilate and suppress their own kind.

The irony, if there is one, is that the secret of a vampire’s immortal existence is no different from that of the human world. Vampires also depend on such things as power, loyalty, tradition, and keeping their faith in the strongest among them. After all, it has always been the duty of the strongest to guarantee, under any circumstances, the survival of the chosen few in the hands of those who might assault the very vestiges of law and order in order to rule and dominate absolutely.

But if after all this, you think that vampires can easily die in the hands of another, then you might ask yourself how we’ve come to survive centuries of war without suffering complete annihilation in the hands of the Pure Bloods, who, by all means enjoy the most power among the highest ranks in the underworld. I guess you have to think about this too… why can’t I ask another vampire to kill me if I wanted to die so badly?

It’s not that death is a mystery among our kind. The awakening of a vampire into his second self—the monster he might not have ever wanted to become—determines the laws of his own existence. In our blood is written not only the limits of our way of life, but even the manner by which we can die.

And as the worst among the cursed race of shadow walkers, I’m the only one who has yet to meet the one who has the power to kill me.

In other words, suicide is not even possible. In order for me to die I need someone whose innate poison might be strong enough to surpass my blood and kill me. And among hundreds and thousands I had fought through the centuries, I found none who held the key, the ultimate spell to fulfill my death wish.

Loyalty among vampires is everything. Nothing binds us to each other save the simple fact that we need each other in order to live and to die. And that explains why anyone who questions the laws of the Throne are dealt without mercy, as if the mere thought of being free from the shackles of this existence is itself a crime. 

I could’t think further than that on this occasion, though. Mikleo’s eyes were avoiding mine, and it was easy to see how he was having misgivings without saying as much as a single word. 

I guess my impatient lust was not amenable to overthinking the reason for his shyness or evasiveness, whichever the real case may be. Rather than discouraging myself, I’d rather treat his silence as a normal reaction to what I’ve just impulsively done and what he must think I’m about to do.

When I’ve finally gotten my body to calm down, I had in mind the chance to try something more daring, to do what I had hoped to do after that kiss. But a light yet visible touch on my chest stopped me midway, making me aware of his intention to stay the distance between us.

I hesitated, pushing lightly against his hand to test his resolve. Keeping his eyes to the floor, Mikleo shook his head.    

“Captain, don’t you think we should start planning what to do from here on first? I’m sure it’s going to get colder and darker sooner with that brewing storm outside.”

I tried to smile. I’m in heat and my body has been aching to grind itself against him. It’s hard enough to try to speak in the middle of my aroused state without stuttering my way through every word like a complete idiot, even harder to think of anything but my pulsating manhood that’s been tingling painfully to be relieved.

As for Mikleo, he seems calm and composed enough save for the breathless rush of his words and the faint fog coming out of his mouth when he spoke.

I couldn’t doubt that it was really getting colder and darker as the view outside the window seemed to portend. I scoured the room with half-dazed eyes, wondering if we’re safe enough in these ruins. Apart from a few spider-web cracks on the walls, the room didn’t look as crestfallen or battered as the rest of the other buildings we’ve passed. In fact the low ceiling and peach-colored walls, not to mention the few modest, yet ornate furniture that sparsely decorated it, gave the room a rather cozy feel to it.

That just about reminded me that the rooms and hallways on the ground floor that we’ve checked before coming up here had scraps of broken wooden furniture that we could probably use for firewood. Hopefully, I’d find enough to last us ‘til morning.

My gaze wandered to the hearth in the dead corner of the room to which Mikleo had retreated, eyes meditatively pondering something quietly. From the looks of it, the hearth seemed intact and begging to be lit. My wayward thoughts saw Mikleo sprawled right in front of the cackling fire, his attractively slender, temptingly nude beauty sparsely covered by a stark, white blanket that indecently exposed him from his chest down to his lower hips.

In my imagination, his silver hair and his white, _white_ body were illuminated by the romantic glow of dying embers casting faint flickers of light on every inch of him.

Every damn inch of his naked, perfect beauty, which should feel just as perfect against my lips... my tongue... my mouth.

I guess I was crazy. Gods, we’re in a room in some dark, abandoned place among ruins, and I was having illicit thoughts of Mikleo in various positions that couldn’t make me _harder_ than I already am. Those lucid fantasies screamed inside my body, practically begging me to make everything happen the way I envision it. Given the chance, I knew I’d strip myself faster than lightning and grab him under those sheets with nothing in mind but to—

“We’ll need firewood. Maybe that’s easier to get downstairs with all the wooden clutter we’ve knocked around on the way here.”

I vaguely nodded. More than the real, urgent need to scavenge for supplies, Mikleo must be in desperate want of privacy. I suspected the suggestion was meant more as an indirect request for me to look for firewood so I wouldn’t be around to watch him strip out of that wet uniform. Suddenly I had an idea and threw myself on the four-poster bed right next to me, not worrying about sending clouds of dust flying off the shrivelled duvet and the creaking mattress underneath. I wanted to test if it could hold my weight—our weight—but my actions must have been too shameless for the self-composed, straight-faced captain of the 9th division that he scooted into the farthest corner of the room between the hearth and the window—as if to tell me I was a rabid wolf he needed to get away from.

He looked so shy, so self-conscious I wanted to laugh. Mikleo was looking out the window when he spoke.

“Let’s meet here a little later after we’ve searched the other rooms. I’m sure to find something useful if I look around.”

I shook my head. “Just stay put, all right? I’ll be the one to go and look for anything useful. After all, it’s my duty to take care of you.”

“Don’t take Alisha seriously. She’s such a worry-wart when it comes to—”

“I’m not doing it for her. It’s bad enough that you’re soaked to the bone, all right? Try to keep yourself warm ‘til I get back. Besides,” I hastened to add since he was giving me that look which warned me that he’s being stubborn now and is about to argue, “I’ve been around these ruins myself. That gives me a better chance of avoiding potential risks… more than a newcomer at least.”

His eyes barely shifted from the view outside the window, but I could tell he was considering what I said seriously. I heard him sigh softly.

“I’d really prefer if you’d let me help, but you do have a point there. There’s nothing more I hate than being rescued from my own stupid blunder.”

I couldn’t help smiling despite the insinuation. “Captain Rulay, I would never dare insult you by suggesting such an abominable thing—”

“Shut it, Captain Ravendalf. Don’t patronize me.” He sounded stern, but his eyes seemed amused as he cast a sidelong glance at me.

“You’re beautiful even when you’re upset.”

“That’s an understatement," he said matter-of-factly, in a way that hardly sounded like teasing even if he were. "I’m perfect even when I’m upset.”

I took that as a hint and strode toward him, my breath catching.

He caught my stare and tried to look away as I reached out for his waist and held him there.

“Be careful, Sorey. I’d hate it even more if I have to rescue my own escort.”

My defenses melted away when he said that. I shrugged my shoulders and grinned at him as I nuzzled his cheek. My cock has been twitching like crazy, now at full mast and ready to strike. But I kept my composure. I didn’t want to ruin the moment by acting like a crazed animal in heat the way I did in the rain a while ago.

The window, which luckily was completely intact, showed an angry sky streaked with occasional bursts of lightning. I knew right away that in an hour or two at the most, we’d be steeped in total darkness. I pulled out something from my breast pocket and handed it to Mikleo.

“It’s a flashlight not an engagement ring, though I wish it were.”

Mikleo caught the joke that I half-seriously intended, even if it were inappropriate at this point.

“Seriously, you’ll be needing that pretty soon. At least I’d be able to find my way back to you somehow in case you decide to go anywhere—which I hope you won’t.”

He turned it on and off then slipped it into his coat pocket. I gave him a confused look.

“We still have to save on power. We don’t know if we can get out of here before morning.”

I felt my heart skip a beat. Was he looking forward to being trapped here with me all night? Not that the situation hasn’t made it obvious enough. I was almost certain my mind was looking for some motivation, a reason to believe I’m not the only one who wanted _this_ to happen.

But that aside, there were far more urgent considerations that could’ve pushed anyone to the same logical course of action. For example, the field between this and the base was flat and bare, littered with empty shells, scrap metal, and rotting carcass in shallow graves. Gun pits and slit trenches were certain to be almost everywhere, most likely spread across distances of fifty yards from each other, and though they might be a little less hard to spot on a clear day, stormy nights would certainly make the odds so much bleaker.

I almost sigh to that and wonder how I could afford to think of anything other than danger. I could almost imagine how the air outside must ripple with the acrid, putrid, stomach-wrenching stench of decay coming from the remains of animals and cattle left to rot under the sun and rain. While most of the bodies of fallen soldiers would be hauled into shallow, make-shift graves after an encounter, those that were trapped among the ruins would have been abandoned to all sorts of predators lurking in the wild, including the occasional wolf or wild dog or even large birds of prey.

It didn't seem unlikely that some bodies might even be buried a few feet right below us. For some reason I got curious about what these ruins were originally before the bombing. From outside, I recognized what apparently was a fenced garden rooftop overrun by wildflowers and a thick undergrowth of vines and brambles. Alongside it was a sign that miraculously stayed intact, just a bit rusty along the edges.

The sign read _Inferno’s Ballad_.

It didn't sound bad at all. In fact it's a name that's about to stick to me for centuries... a name that will mark so many unforgettable memories.

But at that moment, memories of a different kind pervaded me, memories of my addiction for strong, black coffee that filled my nostrils and made me heady. It’s not like I actually drink coffee… I just really love the raw, mind-rousing fragrance of freshly brewed, ground coffee. It might be weird to some, but I used to have the habit of going into expensive cafés to order a cup of the finest coffee in town without the least intention of drinking it.

Those memories had been triggered by some uncanny instinct of mine telling me that the place Mikleo and I had found must have been a café once, or maybe an inn that also served as a diner for local patrons. That must have been the reason why on our way up the second floor, we spied a roomful of broken chairs and tables and lots of glass. Compared to the ground floor where that was, I could surmise that the upper floor must have served as a private lounge for _special_ customers, since there seems to be a great deal of carved furniture and framed pictures all around the place aside from the thicker carpeting and the curtained, queen-size beds that dwarfed everything else.

As I tried to ignore the imposing yet tempting presence of that huge bed right in the middle of the room, I realized that Mikleo has been quietly staring at a framed picture, his eyes intent and seriously focused. There was something adorable in the way his features glowed when he was thinking deeply like that, as if a soldier could afford to be dead to the world at any point in his waking life.

Not that I mind. A deep, aching part of me wanted to keep that vision of him alive and permanent, stored in a secret place where no one could touch it or hurt it.

I smiled and pushed deep down the urge to tell Mikleo he could stay like that as much as he wanted, for as long as I’m around to keep him safe. My more practical self, though, wanted to ask why he wouldn’t use the flashlight I’ve just given him. Despite the somber shadows all around us, he seemed curious enough to want to inspect the painting with only the occasional light from the window affording me glimpses of it.

“It’s a miniature imitation of the Spoliarium, I guess.” It seemed as if he was speaking to himself.

I laughed. He turned to look at me.

“Sorry, it just seems ironic to find something like that here. It’s a picture of death and suffering in a gladiator’s arena, isn’t it?”

“Hardly anyone’s heard of it, actually, but you’re right.” I thought I saw his eyes glimmer with a hint of admiration. Or maybe I was just hoping for it. “I was lucky enough to see the original in a museum in Spain a few years ago when I was visiting. It was a few months before the war. I couldn’t rid myself of guilt back then for appreciating the beauty of such senseless cruelty.”

I gave it some thought. “There’s no cruelty that makes sense. At least from what I’ve seen so far.”

“You're right, I suppose,” he mumbles, his gaze wistful. “But you know, what's really interesting was that the one who painted it was probably pointing that out himself. Spain didn’t achieve as much grandeur as Rome or England when it agreed with Portugal to divide the world between them—but in any case, the original painter was a member of a political group that was fighting Spain for their country’s independence when he decided to enter this painting in one of the most prestigious art competitions in Spain _and_ Europe at that time. As irony would have it, he took the grand prize.”

I sighed to that. Although history and the arts were fascinating subjects in themselves, I found myself admiring the speaker more than anything else. I love the way Mikleo's eyes light up his face when he talks. I love the way they shine with a sort of serene seriousness as if he's pondering some secret, sublime mystery...

Most of all, I love the silence of their smile which joins his lips when he finds something amusing or unexpectedly funny. 

I drew a deep breath, forcing my thoughts to stick to the subject. “The competition was in Madrid, if I remember correctly. And considering the politics of the times, so it would seem that the masters did nothing but exhibit the silent truth behind their own handiwork. Not that conquest or imperialism can ever be anything _but_ abusive. But letting such masterpiece be perceived as art rather than as a sarcastic commentary on their own place in history is much like denying the insult that was apparently being thrown to their faces.”

Mikleo’s frown looked a little pained, as if he had considered that as well but didn’t want his thoughts confirmed so directly. “I guess that’s always an option. There are those who pride themselves on winning psychological battles that do not have to be fought on equal terms. Then again, when had war and fighting truly been equal among those who always believed they would win?”

That was quite unexpected. Captain Luzrov Rulay must be the brooding, introspective type of thinker, a natural philosopher maybe, which was a rare quality on its own among us men in uniform.

He gave me another sidelong glance before turning his attention to the uninspiring view outside the window. “Leaders do that a great deal, don’t they? They exist to deny the reality they’re creating but didn’t want to fight for with their bare hands. They get others killed instead… happy slaves who throw their lives for the sake of a foolish dream they won’t even see.”

Well, that just about confirmed my initial impression. Mikleo always had a bit of an idealistic dreamer in him until the very end...

In fact, I couldn’t help falling for him even more when I realized that.

As the atmosphere was already depressing enough, I tried not to approach the subject as seriously as I would have liked. He seemed to be patiently waiting for me to speak.

“Know what? I learned not to expect too much from those who command us from above,” I told him easily, trying to be nonchalant and cool about it. “I mean, they’re god—in more ways than one. I don’t think it’s my place to question their authority unless I intend to take their place and tie all the loose ends that got everything in this world twisted like this.”

His eyes shifted back to the bleak view of the skies and the horizon outside the window. “To rid the world of that power… don’t you wonder how it feels to try it even once?”

I couldn’t pretend I didn’t hear those words leave his lips like some vague regret or wishful thinking. Back then I considered it as nothing more than a careless afterthought, nothing that I could have used to predict what was about to happen in the future.

I flopped down the bed, my arms folded at the back of my head to cushion it. I seemed to have made him uncomfortably self-conscious by lying down, which honestly only amused me even more. When he looked away quickly I chuckled soundly, making him turn my way.

“You’re really cold, aren’t you?” 

I didn't know how tense he was until he looked down and sideways to avoid meeting my gaze. I fall in love with his profile whenever he shows that angle that emphasizes the strong arch of his jaw carefully balanced by his soft cheekbones and the sophisticated curve of his chin.

“I don’t know how you define that.”

It was a denial that made me realize what my question might have meant. I couldn’t really blame him for reading the sexual innuendos there. After all, given what I had just boldly done, I was hardly what you’d call innocent either. More than that, I barely understood how his nervousness was making me excited, as if his fear was an aphrodisiac of sorts begging every part of my body to make a mess of him.

“You’ve seen a lot, haven’t you?” His question sounded sadder than he might have intended it.

“That depends on what you mean.” For some reason, I needed to point out I wasn't the only one being vague here.

“A lot of the war, the world, maybe even women and men in general?”

“I think I like the sound of the last part.”

“You like men a lot I can see that.”

“And you?” I sat up quickly, making the bed creak with an awful sound, like a banshee in heat.

He averted his face and I can see his profile again. The soft, graceful shape of those pouting lips just made me ache even more, making me admit how much every inch of me quivered to touch and kiss every inch of him.

“I’m not so sure.”

I got up, and in the next second I was cupping his face and kissing him deep and hard. I dared push my tongue inside his mouth, letting the weight of my jaw push him back until his hand went to the wall behind him to support his weight against mine. I realized I was pressing him hard when he stumbled backwards, chest heaving as his back slammed against the wall. He tilted his face toward me, and at that moment all I knew was how beautiful his eyes were… how they seem to shine with a flutter of childish confusion like I was some beast in a fairy tale about to snatch him by the throat.

“Sorey…”

I breathed a kiss on his ear. “I love the sound of my name when you say it.”

“Sorey… I…” he moaned against my shoulder.

I lost it. I pressed myself against him to make him feel what his body and his voice is doing to me.

I couldn’t help grinding against him a little even when my cock was hard and hungry for more. It’s the worst torture I had to endure in my life—much worse than being trapped in a slit trench with German tanks firing a mere hundred yards away, shells and mortars wheezing right above me like a gazillion flies, as if the enemy was about to win the war right there and then.

I groaned out my frustration as my hands tried to pull off his belt.

He stopped my hand with widened eyes.

“Mikleo…” I panted, my choked whisper rumbling desperately at the back of my throat. “I’d be honest with you. I want to fuck your brains out… I want to rip your clothes off and make love to you right here... right here against this wall, anywhere… please…”

I felt him shudder. “Officer…”

“Shut it. I’m dying to get laid and make you feel good... and I’m not asking for your permission either, Captain.”

He pushed me away more insistently this time. “We just met. How can you treat me like a whore?”

“I’ve never been with whores. And there’s been no other man or woman either.”

He gave me a strange look of utter disbelief. “You’re a bad liar.”

“I promise to be good after this.”

“Don’t joke with me Captain Raven—”

“Don’t dare call me that. It’s just Sorey from now on. No strict formalities, remember?”

“You’re quoting me, I see.”

“Yeah, you bet.” I told him smoothly, my mind still reeling from that kiss. I felt the sudden urge to pull him closer, but something caught my attention.

I could see he was hiding the shiver beneath his wet uniform. Without a second thought, I marched to the bed and threw back the covers. The lining underneath must be worth salvaging.

“Here, wrap yourself in this. You’re gonna pass out in this cold if you don’t get rid of that.”

I couldn’t tell if his shudder was brought about by the seeping cold or the firmness in my voice. After all, I’d never been so worried about anyone in a personal way. My concern over my men as a captain felt different from this… this nagging feeling that made my chest hurt with every intake of breath as I watched him take the blanket with a moment’s hesitation.

If I could be honest, all I wanted to do was to keep him close, to pull him toward me and never let go. I didn’t know back then if he were a vampire like myself—that suspicion hadn’t left me since I felt this urge to be with him, to mate with him in ways that betray too much those instincts that only vampires should be able to arouse in each other.

Not like it mattered, even though that sounded stupidly insane and careless. All I could think of was that I wouldn’t be able to be myself until I’ve tasted him, had ravished him in the way only my blood knew how. And for the longest time, I’ve asked myself that question… why I haven’t been carnally seduced or tempted into mating with anyone before… even in those orgies that all vampires, without exception, helplessly submit themselves to. Even the ones already bound or mated to their Chosen—vampires who’ve already chosen their eternal companions—could not resist their primal lust, their wanton need for sexual gratification that defies all known limits known to man or beast.

As for myself, I’ve never felt that thirst, that hunger… I’ve never been persuaded by the calling of the flesh to lose my way in such morbid pleasures.

But that time was different. I wanted only him.

As if my desire called out to him, Mikleo turned to face me. “How about you? You’re just as wet as I am.”

I dared match his gaze as his lids fluttered at me innocently. “I _am_ wet… but I’ll think of something else to keep me warm when I get back.”

He looked away, face flushed, as if reading another of my innuendos. He couldn’t meet my gaze when his mouth opened a little to say something, his breath forming a mist between us.

“On the other hand, we might just dry ourselves like this before the fire. I don’t think it’s necessary or even practical to be standing bare under the sheets when it gets colder—”

I didn’t let him finish. Before I knew what my hand was doing, I grabbed him by the collar and began stripping him with an urgency that almost scared me myself.

Mikleo tried to tear himself away, but my hand was quicker. My arm entwined itself around his waist as my primal urge slammed his defenseless body against the wall. With my other hand I started tearing at the buttons of his jacket and everything else underneath that.

He tried to push against me the third time but his struggle was nothing against my determination to see him naked, to touch and feel that skin with my lips, with my tongue, with my entire body that’s been burning since that moment I laid my eyes on him. By the time I realized how madly aroused I was, I've scratched and bruised him with the way my nails dug into his skin as I fought his futile resistance. I wasn't ready to accept that he wasn't a vampire by the time I got him naked from the chest to the waist as I began tugging off his belt.

He tried to wrench my hands away in panic, but his efforts were getting weaker as my mouth traveled all the way down from his lips, to his chin, his collarbone, to the nipples that stood at attention when I licked them without mercy. I pulled him by the waist as I knelt down in front of him to suck at the soft folds of his stomach, that lean yet gentle contour of flesh that made me want to grind into him until he begs for it. But of course, I had my eyes on something more tempting, something hot and flushed and rigid down there…

I pulled the rest of that darn belt with my teeth and threw it on the floor with the rest of his discarded uniform. He tried to push my face away as my fingers pried the zip of his pants.

When his manhood leaped in front of me out of the undergarments I pushed down his hips, a heavy grunt escaped me, and from there I became deaf to his pleas. I took all of him in my mouth, sucking him off right there and then as my fingers began to pump the base of his cock up and down in a frenzied rhythm.

I could hear his choked moans begging me to stop, but I couldn’t make myself stop. I slid his cock out of my mouth not out of exhaustion or to give him a moment’s rest, but to lick the sweet, liquid fire of his own desire responding to my stimulation. I flicked my tongue against the pink crown of his manhood throbbing against my lips, and let it travel from the tip down to the base in light, fluid strokes, making sure to drink every drop of his juice, his seed that has began leaking from the swelling tip.

I heard him mumble my name like a prayer asking for a miracle. I opened up his legs, pushing them apart and slipping my hand on the base of his cock to massage it more passionately this time. I wanted more of this delicious seed trickling down his length so I began pumping him to the slow rhythm of my lips, my tongue sliding back and forth against his wet, shivering cock. If Mikleo were in pain it wasn’t clear as his painful moans accompanied the slow drivel of his seed, betraying his arousal, his readiness for something more climactic. By then I was resolved to do everything to squeeze every drop and ounce of that sweet nectar out of his throbbing arousal even if I had to keep him here against the wall all night.

But then I realized that he couldn’t stand properly with only my hand as support, keeping him pinned between me and the wall. Streaks of lightning burst outside the window and the glass pane shook with the sound of an incoming storm. I wanted to cradle Mikleo and sweep him off to the bed when I felt his body slowly sinking into mine. Even I felt weak with desire, my body straining to do more, so much more as his breathless moans of protest fueled my burning hunger.

I pushed my face farther between his inner thighs to reach the base of his cock as my tongue sucked his slick. Mikleo shivered and cried out my name, and I braced myself for his release. I breathed in the scent of rain and Mikleo’s lust oozing straight into my mouth as I sucked him rabidly, feverishly to drink his all. Mikleo’s desperate cry released itself into the air and shook away every little bit of self-control left in me as his orgasm soared right into my mouth. His pink, swelling cock shivered in heat as the juice shot straight into me, letting me drink as much as I wanted and craved for, as much as my mouth could catch with him trembling inside me. I only let go when I felt his knees give in, and I had to move away to catch his weight before he collapsed onto the floor, completely spent and exhausted with all that he managed to release in one breath.

We were sweating like hell even as the sound of rain and thunder rumbled outside the window next to us. I swallowed my last fill of him and licked my lips as I pulled him closer, resting his head on the crook of my neck where I knew it would always belong from hereon.

“God, oh god, you’re amazing, Mikleo…” I told him quietly, my voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper against the noise of rain as I stroked his hair fondly.

He whimpered, his chest heaving against mine. He was so messed up I wanted to take a picture of him to have something with me that could keep my hands busy when we’re not together.

I found myself smiling at that crazy, wayward thought. Mikleo felt so soft and vulnerable against me that I couldn’t think of anything else but making love to him until morning, non-stop.

Because vampires don’t have the same limitations as humans do when it came to sex. Shocking as it would seem to an outsider, vampires could and _would_ mate for weeks with neither food nor sleep. For humans that must be no different from getting killer fatigue by staying in the gun pits for days on end firing at an enemy they couldn’t even see.

“Sorey…” I heard him breathe on my chest, his voice muffled by it. “… you’re the worst.”

I laughed a little, tilting his chin up so I could kiss it. “Need I say how much I want you, desire you my Captain? I’ve taken what’s yours, and you let me have it. That means you’re mine from now on.”

“But that’s not what I came here to do, and you know it. If Alisha were to even know about this—I—I don’t want her to—”

“The Commander can think whatever she wants,” I half-whispered with enough confidence to convince myself too. “Everything's gonna be all right as long as I’ve got you, Mikleo. And I promise I won’t let any harm come to you. I'm serious about this, and I'm not letting you change my mind even if you argue like I know you would.”

“You don’t know that, do you?” he complained in a stern yet subdued way, his eyes meeting my gaze as I firmly lifted his chin to kiss him again. “I mean… there are lots of things you still don’t know about me.”

I smiled through his hair that was still moist with sweat as I trailed kisses down his chin to the slope of his neck and collarbone. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve mated with no one else ever but you. That must amount to something, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t know you were a vampire until you kissed me under the rain.”

“I didn’t know I could fall for anyone until you came out of that train. I fell for you first.”

“Is this a race?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah it is. The one who falls first gets to quit last. But since I'm never gonna quit on you, it all ends the same. You'll always have me, Mikleo.”

“Convenient. Do vampires always think like this?”

“You don't?”

Mikleo gave a shudder. “I wished I were one when I was about five years old… when I heard my mom ask a First Blood to see if there’s a possibility I could awaken, even though it’s already late and I seemed too old for it by then…”

“I was turned when I was four-and-a half.”

“That’s the ideal age.”

“So you’re a Halfling, then? I don’t use such terms, but it’s probably what other vampires would call you if they knew.”

Mikleo nodded weakly. 

“Don’t feel so bad. You’re cute as you are so it doesn’t make any difference.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this kind of conversation.”

I found myself grinning at that astute observation. “But we are anyway, Mikleo.”

“Seriously, we just met! On top of that, you’re no less than the Captain of the reputable 12th division. Everybody talks about how amazing you are in _any_ field of battle.”

“I don’t see how that could be a problem?”

A flash of lightning illuminated Mikleo’s profile, and suddenly, I couldn’t help bending down to kiss the top of his head.

“You don’t sound like the Captain whom Alisha has been so proud of.”

“And what is the kind of officer she’s so proud of, pray tell?”

Mikleo’s eyes held a hint of amusement, but I could sense there was something hidden there, something sad, almost bitter-sweet, that I suppose must encompass a whole range of feelings I could not even begin to comprehend—yet. I think I was better able to grasp the full complexity of Mikleo’s mind only after certain things have happened… certain things I could fault myself with for not knowing any better when I should.

It was too late when I realized that ignorance—or perhaps insensitivity—comes from taking for granted what we least expect to lose… something we’ve probably been holding on for so long not knowing how precious it was until we lost it, or something we’ve lost not knowing we had let go of something irreplaceable until nothing could replace it…

I didn’t know how long Mikleo carried the burden of knowing certain things that I didn’t. I think it began at that exact moment that I asked him what Alisha must think of me… that moment when I was completely in the dark as to what was going on in his mind.

Mikleo smiled wanly. “As you probably already know, she thinks of you as the perfect knight. No one can outshine your bravery and flawless brilliance in any manner known to the human world and the underworld. You are a paragon of excellence we can only aspire to be in our vaguest dreams.”

I blinked. “Uh… am I supposed to take that as her exact words?”

Mikleo simply smiled. “You can take it any way you want. All I know is that Alisha… the Commander we both know so well, and the only true friend I’ve ever had in my life, the only one who has risked and would risk everything to protect me and my family has deep feelings for you, Captain Sorey von Ravendalf…” he pauses as if he has just started to think about things very deeply, and a realization, an epiphany is about to take place, something I know I would never be ready for.

"Call me by my name, Mikleo." I didn't want to beg, but there's nothing more hateful than Mikleo treating me like a stranger by reverting to formalities when it comes to this topic.

"Alisha believes in you, Sorey... but more than that, she-"

"Shut it. Just-just stop, all right?" 

Rude as it sounds, there’s nothing more that needed saying. It didn’t matter what Alisha said—it didn’t matter what she must have made Mikleo believe without knowing it herself. It didn’t matter if—    

“Even before we've met I’ve always known and felt it from the way she puts all her hopes in you… this war, the plans that can turn things around for the good of those who've already sacrificed too much in this. She thinks of you as this world's Savior, the Redeemer, who alone can save everyone from the secrets that’s about ready to kill more than anyone’s willing to lose. And I know without her saying it, I know that her feelings for you..."

"Mikleo... let's not dwell on that, all right?"

Mikleo's eyes seemed evasive for once. "I know how much Alisha loves you-"

"Don't-I told you we don't have to talk about this-"

"Alisha loves you, Captain…" Mikleo's voice sounded insistent, but I could sense the hurt in it. "She loves _only_ you... above all else.”

Jealousy, rage... I couldn't name the monster that was eating at me. I hated it, loathed it, because I didn't want to even  _imagine_  that I was hurting Mikleo because he loves Alisha that way...

The fear was paralyzing, as if my veins had frozen over.

"Of all people you shouldn't be the one saying that..." I couldn't keep my voice from _not_ quivering as something inside me now threatened to explode. "Not you, Mikleo. Never you."

This time Mikleo had to turn away, his profile hidden in the shadows that hovered around us like restless ghosts since the storm had begun its assault. “Alisha loves you like no one else ever can and ever will and I—knowing that from the very start, I shouldn’t have—”

I stopped him there by taking his mouth and kissing him deep and hard and desperately, as if by doing so I could erase his misgivings about us… about the fact that nothing in the world can ever make me change my mind about him, and why I would choose him and _only_ him from here on end, even if hell should get in the way.

Even if friendships must come undone. Though in truth I would never want it that way, no one does. But between Mikleo and anything else that exists...

“Look, you’re cold and shivering, and I was supposed to get a fire going before I… I mean before we… got side-tracked, I guess?”

In my life, I've never lied nor pretended so hard to sound normal as I did then. Mikleo's revelation cut me raw, leaving a deep wound that bleeds every now and then... to this day.

He gave me a wry smile before pushing me away so we could both get on our feet. “Whatever it is, just go before we both freeze to death. I’ll try to help as much as I can.”

I shook my head in concern. “No, you’re staying right here, Mikleo, I promise to be back soon. Just wait for me, all right?”

“I can check the rooms across from here…”

I pulled him to me and gave his waist a squeeze. Then I grabbed the sheets I pulled out from under the duvet a while ago and wrapped them around him.

“You’re not going anywhere, and that’s final. I’m the one giving orders around here when it’s about your safety.”

“You’re exaggerating, Captain," he told me in that breathless way of his, frowning a little. "I’m in no danger, I assure you.”

By then I couldn't help comparing him with a forlorn kitten all wrapped up. It was tempting not to go for a second round right there and then, but I kinda felt Mikleo wasn't going to like my yanking the sheets off him just when he's all tucked in looking warm and comfy.

I called myself all sorts of ugly names just to calm down my urges. He looked at me softly and I looked back, reaching out to caress his cheek fondly.

“Mikleo, promise you’re gonna stay for me, all right?”

He sensed the strange lilt in my voice. I knew I was worried about something else by then because my lips trembled beneath the kiss that I gave him without warning.

Not a single day passes that I don't remember that kiss. I was afraid then, so afraid... so weak and helpless against the gut feeling that I was going to lose him someday... that I might have to let him go against my will...

Embarrassed, Mikleo averted his flushed face when our lips finally parted. But I could tell he was reading something into my tone, something he probably knows better than I do about me.

“I’ll stay if you say so.”

I silently nodded, convinced and somehow relieved that Mikleo recognized the urgency in my voice and my need to distance myself—not from him but from something I didn’t want to even think about because I couldn’t bear letting it come between us. There are emotions I’m completely stubborn about, hell, I’m still me, and a part of me couldn’t outgrow that part of me just yet—and one of those things is hating anything that’s forcing me into a compromise.

To be bluntly honest about this, my evasiveness after that revelation was borne by the fact that I wanted an escape from a potential argument I didn’t want to lose by any means.

I knew right then that losing to Mikleo might mean losing him to something or someone out there… someone I would willingly give up for him even if it hurts him that I do… and even if he might not do the same for me…

I liked Alisha, we both did, though it seemed Mikleo’s buried feelings for her lie deeper than he could ever make himself admit. It was ironic that he believed it was the same for me, that I’m the one who has always harbored deep, romantic feelings for the commander. I couldn’t understand back then why he could never quite believe that I’ve completely bound myself to him since that intimate moment in those ruins. I was the selfish one, the one who didn’t want any other feelings to get in the way even if it meant wanting Alisha to keep her distance from me… and from him…

As much as I never wanted to hurt her, I never wanted to be misunderstood. I had very few friends, and even fewer _really_ good friends. Every single one of them is precious, and that would always include Alisha.    

Something one must understand about me is that I can be one heck of a stubborn, unyielding brute if one lets me. And when it comes to my personal life, being obstinate to the point of pain is what I’m good at. For me, personal things are just that—they’re personal. That practically means one other thing: I can’t let anything—this war, the law, the long-standing feud between the Pure Bloods and the First Bloods and whatever other known adversaries out there that might make up the odds—decide for me what I know is within my power and my rights to choose for myself.

Later on, you realize that in real life making compromises doesn’t mean giving up or giving in completely. It means saving what can be saved if they’re worth saving, even if the method doesn’t agree with you or actually kills you.

I wish I had known that back then. I wish I had listened.

I wished I knew what Mikleo had been trying to say. Then again, how do you wish for something that your heart regrets more than anything? How could I wish for a future without Mikleo in it?

Maybe from the start I never really had any choice…

I had been doomed from the very beginning, right from the moment the gods had decided to seal my fate in the stars, not knowing that by the time I needed to understand what that fate was, the universe has already lost that one light, that one hope and purpose that would have probably made all the difference.

 

**o-----)o(-----o**

“Lieutenant Commander…”

“Maltran? How many times do I have to tell you… just call me Alisha…”

“Commander…”

“C’mon, just call me Alisha, it’s easy enough. And I’m sure you can do it without biting your tongue by accident, Maltran!”

“Well then Alisha…” Maltran finally relented, her face softening, hopelessly taken by the young commander’s kind modesty. “I have a message to relay from Admiral Diphda.”

“You mean dad? Is he overworking himself again?”

“He wants Captain Luzrov Rulay to be monitored more closely. He feels you should know that the Council is sending Lunarre after him.”   

Alisha raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Lunarre? I thought he was being detained in Russia…”

“He mentioned nothing specific, but he was careful to say that necessary arrangements have been made. It seems the Throne was able to negotiate his release.”

Alisha stood up, her console blinking an alarm. It seemed she was in the middle of typing a password for a file, which now seemed nothing more than just a distraction. “I need to talk to Admiral Diphda about this! I thought we had an understanding about this operation! What would Mikleo say if he finds out we’re deploying Lunarre of all things!”

Maltran noticed how Alisha would involuntarily shift to addressing her father by his official military title whenever she felt flustered. “Halflings hate First Bloods that much, don’t they?”

Alisha exhaled deeply. “No, not everyone I suppose… Lunarre is just… different. Mikleo still hates him for turning him. In many ways he reminds me of Sorey… They both hated the awakening so much, wishing that it never happened ever...”

“Vampires aren’t half so bad. I mean, knowing all the things you and your father had done for the cause of our survival, I’m sure all of us Halflings would have been exterminated a long time ago. If your family had not intervened, we’d be completely at the mercy of the Pure Bloods and the Throne. You and your father had risked so much, even as Pure Bloods yourselves…”

“I almost wish I wasn’t one when I think about my friends.”  

“I forgot,” Maltran spoke in a slightly subdued voice, and if not for the slight curl of her upper lip, no one would suspect she was almost in a teasing mood. “Captain Rulay seems to be fond of you despite the fact that you’re a Pure Blood yourself. Or perhaps he just hates all _other_ vampires regardless of breed or standing… a human sympathizer to the extreme. He’s a Halfling I might never come to understand.”

“No matter what he is, he’ll always be my friend. Just like Sorey.”

“Oh? I thought you and Captain Ravendalf were more than that.” Maltran spoke with a straight face, as if she was just reciting a fact.

“Well, it’s never like that. I mean… we’ve always been busy.”

“I thought you were about to propose to him. On your graduation.”

“Maltran! That—that’s sheesh, that was just my naïve self imagining he had feelings for me back then!”

“Not once have I suspected it to be your imagination, Alisha. I assume he's led you on without you even realizing it. If I were you I would open my heart to him and ask him what he intends to do after.”

Alisha looked down thoughtfully. “I remember the Admiral saying once, '... the strongest of faiths can be the most misleading.'  That aside, you’ve always been bold and honest, Maltran. I wish I could be as brave.”

“I’ve always been objective, Alisha. It’s your duty as a Lieutenant Commander to be brave. And you are in many ways… except when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Alisha averted her face, noticing the blinking light on her console. She pressed a button to close the current window she has been browsing. “I guess you’re right. I used to think time would make it easier…”

“Easier to be honest or to let go? I must admit, Captain Sorey von Ravendalf is a desirable man, an exceptional breed if I must be absolutely honest. I can think of no one more suitable for someone as beautiful, intelligent, and accomplished as you. He should know this far more than anyone… and appreciate the fact that you intend to devote yourself to him for all eternity…”

Alisha clearly had misgivings as she tried to smile despite the sadness painted clearly in her clear, topaz-green eyes. “I don’t think I’m his _Chosen_ … I mean… the way those things work… he should have made a move a long time ago if—no, what I’m trying to say is—”

“You’ve been waiting for him to confirm feelings that you know already exist. After all, there's no such thing as unrequited love among vampires who feel such intense yearning for their Chosen ones.”

“I’m not sure about anything anymore, Maltran,” Alisha whispered, letting out a frustrated groan. “I don’t know how it’s possible for me to be the only one who feels this way…”

Maltran gave her a wary look. “You seem to be admitting this for the first time, my lady...”

“Ad-admitting that I have-" Alisha sounded a little nervous despite the confident denial her inner voice wanted to conjure. "No, it's not that at all... I'm sure it's not that.”

“Then you must be truly in love with Captain Sorey von Ravendalf, aren’t you?" Maltran spoke gently but with open conviction. "Your eyes say it clearly. You yearn for him and only him.”

The Lieutenant Commander gave a low, breathless sigh, eyes misting as she tried to swallow back doubts that seemed to catch in her throat. “I would always love Sorey. He’s my Chosen and I would never let anything change that no matter what. Even if he decides to choose someone else…”

“What if he did… what would you do if you discover this? Dare you become an unpaired Pureblood for life because of his rejection?”

Alisha felt her heart—no her whole being shiver at the mere thought of it. Could it really be possible?

“I really don’t know…" she answered wistfully, looking down again. "But I'm praying to all the gods out there that I don’t do anything I’d regret if it comes to the point that I see him together… with someone else...”

Maltran lets out a defeated sigh. “Shouldn’t the Captain at least be warned of this? I already fear that nothing good can come from this unnecessary secrecy. It is as if the worst possibilities are just waiting for the right chance to happen.”

“You know something I don’t?”

Maltran shook her head. “Nothing that even amazes. I did hear from the Admiral that Captain Ravendalf’s under close observation as well… something that needs Lunarre’s confirmation.”

“However is Lunarre related in all this?"

"Aside from being a First Blood, there were rumors he was a former Knight-Herald of Ravenwolfe... and would still be if the rest of the clan had survived."

"I still can't see a connection. The only reason I've sent Mikleo to be with Sorey is that I know Sorey would trust anyone I trust. Besides, Mikleo must already know that just like him, Sorey has ill-feelings for Pure Bloods and other First Bloods… because of their role in the awakening... for breeding more of our kind. Unlike other Halflings, Mikleo has no affinity for other vampires and even detests most of our actions openly. He's always been a critic, and I could hardly blame him for it. After all, he's gone through so much...

"And so you felt he wouldn’t mind protecting someone who's suffered as much? Someone who feels the same anguish, the same rage the way he does... someone like Captain Ravendalf, though he may be a First Blood...”

Alisha's eyes brimmed. "Yes. It's rather complicated, I know. Sorey and Mikleo hating _our_ kind regardless of breed, Pure Bloods hating First Bloods for sowing the first seeds of rebellion against them, not to mention the Tainted Ones..."

"You mean the ones who hunted and fed on Pure Bloods, don't you? I wonder how true it is that Captain Ravendalf had initially distinguished himself in the Westcraven Purging by slaughtering no less than twelve thousand First Bloods single-handedly."

Though she personally deplores violence, Alisha could not help but feel a swelling pride within her. "His skills are legendary."  

"In addition to that, we have most Pure Bloods _and_ First Bloods hating Halflings for no logical reason at all."

"It's something father has been pressuring the Council of Elysia to act on. Enacting laws against discrimination and prejudice will send a clear message that hostilities against Halflings are not to be tolerated. Mikleo was quite agreeable to it, and I have to admit it was he who inspired me to convince father to act on it with urgency." 

“That aside, I think the better reason Captain Rulay is so willing to lend you a hand is that he holds you in such high regard... that he would go through hell's fire and more if it means making you happy.”

“I'm sure it's nothing like that. Mikleo’s my friend and friends support each other. Always.”

“I just feel it’s a bit underhanded on the part of the Resistance to be using Halflings this time around," Maltran added, sensing Alisha's evasiveness. "But if I may speak my mind on this matter, I think Captain Rulay’s influence may not be sufficient to convince his family to clear Lord Heldalf and the entire Ravendalf clan of any suspicions regarding their involvement in the Resistance. No one can blame him if he finds little reason to try to save an entire clan from a certain doom that he cannot save his own family from."

Alisha shakes her head. "But we can't have two Houses falling apart like this."  

"Captain Rulay cannot afford to support his own clan, the House of Ravencrowe, so openly without arousing even worse suspicion from the Throne. And the Ravencrowes are not in a position to argue or negotiate their way out of this conflict either. Unless they agree to completely withdraw their forces and surrender their highest leaders to the Elysian Council or the High Tribunal, they would suffer the same terrible consequences that crushed the Ravenwolfe clan completely. Involving the Halflings in this conspiracy to overthrow the Throne—or the House of Derrilvion—will only put all of us in grave danger of being suspected as sympathizers to their hopeless cause.”  

Alisha nodded, her face serious. “I know what you mean. I don’t intend to put Mikleo in harm’s way either… but I can’t trust anybody else to convince Sorey to warn Lord Heldalf about what the Throne intends to do if the House of Ravendalf fails to surrender the current leader of the Ravencrowe Resistance to the Elysian Council in ten days.”

“I heard he’s been alienated from his father for a very long time.”

“Lord Heldalf has been the Godhead of the Ravendalf House for as long as anyone can remember. He and Sorey were never related by blood… I mean, I shouldn’t even speak of this, but… it seems Sorey never knew his parents and he’s been passed from family to family, even operating as a mercenary for the Black Sparrows before Lord Heldalf decided to have the clan adopt him as its own and gave him his title.”

“He’s been known as Knight-Herald since then, hasn’t he? It’s the highest title that one may acquire next to Godhead of the Guardian clans.”

“I used to call him Prince just to tease him about it,” Alisha recalls fondly. “He hates titles. He hates everything that sets him apart from the rest of the human world.”

“So as it turns out, you caused the meeting of two vampire-hating Princes to avert what might probably be the most catastrophic confrontation between the Resistance and the Throne?”

“I just hate the Ravendalf House getting dragged into this along with Sorey… He’s done so much for the Throne, for everyone in this war. He’s been fighting battles for the human world in the name of the alliance between the Throne and the League of Nations that declared this war against The Union. Now they’re dragging him into a conflict that may force him to take a stand against his own clan for the sake of the House of Derrilvion. It’s not fair that he should be punished for something he had no hand in…”

“Captain Rulay is hardly in a better position. I heard the former Godhead of the Ravencrowe clan is none other than his own biological mother, the former head of the Elysian Council no less, Lady Muse, a Pure Blood herself. That is why it’s no surprise that its current leader is no less than Captain Rulay’s half-sibling by blood, the renowned lady commander of the fallen Enforcers, the Windstalker Order of the Throne, one who happens to be a Halfling like him and me…”

Alisha felt a patter of goosebumps prick her forearm at the reminder. “Next to the noble Lady Muse her reputation exceeds all others. You speak of no less than Lady Velvet Crowe of the House of Ravencrowe, the same leader of the Resistance as alleged by the House of Derrilvion, sadly, with a preponderance of evidence that might persuade everyone in the Council and the Tribunal.”

“As for you, my Lady Alisha, what is your stake in all this?”

Alisha did not take long to decide that on her own. It has always been clear to her where she stands, though that place has been a cold and lonely one. “I stand where I must to protect everyone I love and hold dear. And that means you, Sorey, and Mikleo…”

“You should be more honest, Princess. You’re risking far too much, including no less than your father’s own trust in you to protect the one you love the most. I just hope he knows what you’re doing for him.”

Alisha looks away. “Whatever happens, all I want for now is to keep Sorey safe. For as long as we breathe together under the same sky I know I’d be all right.”

“If Captain Rulay hears of it, he might think twice about the aid he’s offered you.”

Alisha looked away, trying to hide the way her cheeks flushed at the thought. “I trust him, Maltran. I know he'll do what’s best for everyone. Of us three, he’s the one most capable of miracles…”

“Miracles? You believe in such myths too?”

Alisha’s face breaks into a fond, affectionate smile as she gives Maltran a faraway look. “He exudes that kind of confidence, that kind of subtle power so much so I’m sometimes afraid of him. I still believe I’d probably never meet someone as extraordinary as Mikleo if things have been different. Perhaps… if I had met him before I did Sorey, I would have fallen in love with him as much.”

“That may be the worst possibility at this moment, Alisha. One captain is enough for a woman’s heart. Make it two and you’re courting disaster.”  

Alisha laughs behind her hand. “I just wish that’s all I really needed to worry about.”

“Aye,” Maltran answers, her heart already full of quiet misgivings as if in the air between them is written an ominous sign that be will never deciphered completely. “I wish that too, Alisha, for everybody’s sake. Or else, the heavens shall fall and it might be too late for anything, even love, to save us all…”

“Well, if the gods could see things as romantically as you do, wouldn’t the world be a happier place then?”

“But if the world were a happier place we might not even be needed.”

Alisha found herself wondering about that. But before she could say anything, the lights around them sputtered then everything simply blacked out. Then the computer alert came into view, a flickering hologram screen that showed a stern, gaunt-faced man whose eyes mirror years, even centuries of wisdom and experience.

Lights sparked back into life, but they were dimmer, emphasizing the effervescent glare of the computer hologram screen against the subtle shadows falling around it.

As the screen switched into the proper frequency channel, the vague, unstable image became more distinct, clearly showing Admiral Diphda’s face harshly outlined in the iridescent light. It was enough to draw a slight gasp from the Lieutenant Commander who stared at it speechless, wide-eyed and more nervous than she would admit. And the minute her father started speaking, Alisha had completely forgotten she was being addressed by not only the highest authority in the Navy, but also the most respected man in the Ministry of Defense who raised her on his own as her biological father, a Pure Blood no less than she was herself.

“This is a call to all ground forces to regroup under Operation Overlord,” his voice came through, clear and unhampered by any signal disturbance. “I repeat, all ground forces are to regroup under Operation Overlord. Full deployment in 2200 hours. Again, Operation Overlord shall commence in 2200 hours. All Pendrago carriers are expected to have reached Base 09-001 to give a full account of the first strike. Ground unit forces are to prepare for the Second Phase, Code Pendrago. Over.”

Alisha was still dazed by the time Maltran laid a hand on her shoulder when she collapsed on the chair next to her console. “I think there’s nothing much we can do now, my lady.”

Alisha shook her head, her face almost as pale as those strands of light blonde hair that draped over her cheeks. “It can’t be Maltran… This can’t be happening…”

“What’s wrong, Alisha?”

“That base… It’s where Sorey is…”

“That alone should not be surprising. We’re in the middle of war.”

“No, it’s something else, Maltran!”

“Alisha…”

Maltran was surprised when she knelt in front of the commander to give her a better look. Alisha looked angry, confused, but more hurt than anything when she caught the peculiar shimmer of those clear, topaz-green eyes staring into empty space.

“I can’t believe they’ve aborted the mission without giving us enough time to change plans… Now they’re going to deploy an assault unit right where Sorey is! And if it’s the Pendrago that _has_ to be involved in this, that could only mean one thing…”

“Vampires…” Maltran finished for the Lieutenant Commander without the slightest hesitation. “Pure Bloods and Halflings together…”

“More than that, they’re going to use Lunarre as a trigger, to force Mikleo to do something against his better judgment! Gods, how could they have talked my father into it!”

“I guess it’s not what the Admiral could ever want on his own, given the odds he has to face to get things going like this. We all know this is the Throne’s own doing. The Derrilvion House is an unforgiving lot… From the very beginning they’ve been ruthlessly fighting this kind of war against any organization, any form of resistance whether that be human or their own. Everything that stands in their way has no hope of surviving such wrath as only Pure Bloods can absolutely be capable of… of course with you and the Admiral as the only exceptions to the general rule, Alisha.”

“That’s where they’re about to be wrong.” Alisha stood up then started unbuttoning her uniform jacket.

Maltran watched her keenly as she changed from her white uniform blazer and skirt to a tight-fitting pair of coal-black jeans and a long, black coat that covered the entire length of her perfectly svelte figure, from the neck down to her knees.

“Whatever are you planning on doing now?”

“I’m going to warn Sorey myself. In person.”

“Alisha, need I tell you how risky that is?”

“But there’s nothing else that can be done, is there? Except for one thing maybe…”

Maltran gave her an uncertain look. “Something tells me I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear…”

“Please, you have to try and contact Rose…”

“No… Alisha that’s suicide. Rose of the Black Sparrows is _not_ an option.”    

“But, she is, Maltran! She’s the only one who knows how to get me out of this base!”

“She’s gonna get you out and into trouble soon enough.”

“It's not my fault I've got dangerous friends,” Alisha spoke in one breath. “Because they're all I need to feel safe. And it's the same reason I need to protect them as much as I can...”

“Alisha…”

“Please, Maltran, we don’t have much time!" Alisha didn't mind having to beg in front of her one-and-only-trusted aide. "If anything bad ever happens to Sorey…”

“I understand," Maltran sighed with just the tiniest hint of resignation, though her voice sounded firm and unrelenting. "It’s not like you’re going to let me stop you anyhow. You’re as hopelessly stubborn as a child.”

“Thanks, Maltran!”

“Princess, that’s not a compliment!”

Alisha smiled. "You really can't stop calling me Princess, can you Maltran?"

"You shall and always will be the only Pure Blood worthy of the Throne." 

"Stop it," Alisha tried to laugh, but her heart was uneasy. Maltran felt the anxiety in her eyes and gave her shoulders a tight squeeze.

“Hang on, I’ll get you any help you need. Just be all right, Alisha. Promise me that much at least.”

“I’ll be fine. I know I will…”

“No, you don’t…” Maltran gave her a hug. “But I do pray the gods do… if they still listen to prayers. I know mine will always be meant for your safety…”

“Thank you.”

Maltran looked away. “I wonder how long this must go on before we can all settle down and be happy. Just once I want to see that happen…”

Alisha could not for the life of her understand why, when Maltran asked that question quietly, as if speaking only to herself, tears started to blur her vision and she found herself crying like a child who hardly understood why her heart was trembling with fear and a sudden impulse that things could never be all right ever again.

And Maltran just stood there and held her. She held her as if she was the daughter she never had and never will have, and quietly prayed for a miracle, hoping that the gods, this time, might listen.

 

**o)------------o)O(o------------(o**

  


	4. One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two bodies, one soul, and a night that could have stretched onto forever, if only some things were not beyond impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments for this fic. I wish I could update all my fics faster. My friend tells me I'm a lazy bum after school and I think she's so right, ha ha. ^_^
> 
> Also, lets try to keep the fanfiction for ToZ alive. Kudos to the ones who started this... they're the ones who really made ToZ popular and reachable to so many other fans out there. I can only thank you guys so much for letting us fans experience your wonderful fiction and art. 
> 
> Okay enough with that, I'm being such a sappy dork again! ^_^ By the way, this one's loaded with sappy smut. You've been warned... ^_^

 

**o)------------o)O(o------------(o**

_It’s supposed to hurt, it’s a broken heart_

_But to movin’ on is the hardest part_

_It comes in waves, the letting go_

_But the memory fades, everybody knows_

_Everybody knows…_

_What if I’m tryin,’ but then I close my eyes…_

_And then I’m right back, lost in that last goodbye?_

_And what if time doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do…_

_What if I never get over you?_

_What if I never get over? What if I never get closure?_

_What if I never get back all the wasted words I told you…_

_What if it never gets better?_

_What if this lasts forever and ever and ever…_

_What if I gave you everything I’ve got?_

_What if your love was my one and only shot…_

_What if I end up with nothing to compare it to?_

_What if I never get over… oh if I never get over..._

_What if I never get over you?_

-originally by **Lady Antebellum** , “What If I Never Get Over You?”

performed by **Broken Strings** for **_Inferno’s Ballad_ **

 

**o)------------o)O(o------------(o**

 

 

I gathered enough firewood that looked like it would last us two days. We needed to get back in the morning, but my mind must have resisted the idea. Mikleo gave me a look of disbelief.

“That looks like a lot, don’t you think?”

I ignored him as I walked to the fireplace. In less than five minutes I got a small fire going. The cackling sound of wood was comforting, and I let out a sigh as I stepped back from my accomplishment.

Mikleo was huddled in a corner like a cat about to be pounced. Maybe it was my fault. I was hungry, starving, and we both knew it hardly had anything to do with food…

I unbuttoned my coat and stripped myself of everything. My cock leaped out like a predator ready for the hunt, and to think I had taken a sedative (ironic that I always had it with me as first aid) to keep myself calm. For a second I caught my silver-haired captain looking, and my body throbbed with a sense of superiority. Shadows swayed around us as gusts of wind rattled the windows and fanned the flames behind me. I wanted to smile, but instead I found myself letting out a deep exhale. I didn’t want to ruin the mood.

Mikleo seemed too embarrassed to let me know he was curious. He looked away, his gaze resting on the wall as if _that_ could be more interesting.

Maybe I could have pretended to be just as shy—and believe me I was, a little bit at least. But I haven’t felt like this in the longest while—hell, I haven’t felt like this at all until today. If I’m all hot and bothered with him just standing in the same room with me, it shouldn’t be surprising. I haven’t known what it’s like to feel this kind of attraction for anything… anyone… so my body was crazy sensitive, tense. Right then, I didn’t think there was any way I could’ve held myself back even if I called myself all kinds of dirty names in any language out there. I knew at least twenty-seven… but even the worst name-calling wasn’t helping me calm down.

Mikleo was staring at my cock by the time I reached his side to pull at the blanket wrapped around his pale perfection.

“Sorey… if you think I'm letting you…”

“I’ll be gentle… Mikleo...” I told him, a careless whisper and a careless lie. Vampire lust is rabid, I’ve seen it too many times to be convinced otherwise. I’m no different, I realized that now. It was just a matter of waiting for my blood-mate… my _Chosen_ if one prefers the more romantic word for it. No one else can arouse the deep, insatiable lust of a vampire, putting him in heat that would last for weeks, even months.

Despite my reassurance, Mikleo looked uncertain and anxious. I couldn’t blame him though. If I were in heat as I think I am, there's nothing in the world that could stop me from taking him right here, right now.

I yanked the blanket off him, but his hands were quick enough to cover that part of him that stood at attention. It was a bad move. The gesture only churned my blood, pumping enough heat in my loins to make me want to attack him. Lust without love is dangerous… put two together in a room in the middle of nowhere and it becomes insanity.

I parted his thighs with my hip and wrenched his hands away. There’s no way I can let him hide any part of him when I’m like this. The heat that I never thought my body can ever be capable of is grinding inside of me. Any resistance is just unnecessary delay.

His mouth opened to gasp for air and I took the chance to slip my tongue in. I’ve been wanting to taste him raw like this, to memorize every detail of him so I'll never forget. It’s as if my mind knew how cruel life could be to allow second chances. If this were to be my first and last, I wanted my feelings to stay on. The world could change a million times, and I could live with that. But stubborn as it sounds, I didn’t want to move on from this moment ever.

I want a permanent memory to outlast a million lifetimes.

“Breathe… I—I need to breathe…” his muffled voice reached me, hushed and breathless. I knew he wasn’t teasing, but my body reacted no differently.

I lowered my mouth, trailing kisses down his neck. “Lie down with me then…”

Mikleo pushed me away with one closed fist on my chest. “Enough… I can’t—anymore…”

I’ve hardly done anything that was enough. I slid my hands up and down the contour of his slim body, lingering on the curve of his hip. The sensual, silky touch of him was pounding in my brain, heating me up even more. My blood wanted him, and his refusal was just making my cock swell at full mast.

“You’re hot… and burning… and you smell so good,” I told him as I slid my hand down his crotch and grasped his manhood between my fingers. I’ve been grinding my hips against him so it was normal for him to be so aroused. His feverish body was shivering, reacting to my kisses, my slightest touch. I could tell that his body was more honest than his words could ever be.

“S-stop… Sorey… th-that’s enough…”

He was panting, chasing his breath, and he wanted me to stop? I would be crazy if I did. His moans told me that he was just as starved and needy as I was. I knew by the way he threw his head back and clenched my arm as I sucked his skin into a bruise that he was achingly wanting but also unwilling to let me see this secret part of him. His denial had nothing to do with whether he wanted this to happen or not.

My fingers felt slippery as his desire came close to reaching its peak. I rubbed the wetness and let it glide over my fingertips as my other hand parted his thighs more widely to give me enough room for movement.

Mikleo’s cock throbbed against my thigh impatiently, frustrated beyond words when I released it. I knew he was about to come, and making him wait a little bit more was torturing me just as much, but I wanted us both to last longer. I wanted to make him mine, to carve my all into his body so he wouldn’t be able to forget me.

I slipped one finger inside his hole, feeling the muscle ripple with a vibrating tingle. He was tight and nervous and so inexperienced I would have come and finished right there and then... that is, if I wasn’t concentrating on what I needed to do first.

He moaned and panted heavily against the crook of my neck as I lowered myself a little to reach more deeply within him. “Sorey… that’s…”

“Trust me, my captain,” I tried to tease a little. “I know what I’m doing…”

“But I’m… Sorey…”

“Don’t talk, dammit. It stirs me up even more…”

“But—“

“Ease up a little… I’m trying to slow down…”

I realized I was simply prolonging the foreplay because I had no intention of giving Mikleo up even if he begged. I circled the rim of his hole, playing with the pliant folds before thrusting the full length of my finger into it with a sudden jab. He hissed sharply as I poked around his depths, trying to ignore the sharp ripple clenching at me hungrily. I imagined what it would feel around my cock, and I grunted in frustration. I knew I wasn't going to last any longer in my state.

I slid a second finger into him, and Mikleo writhed against me, his eyes regarding me beneath half-closed lids.

“No more, please…”

“Nice and slow…” I breathed against his ear. “I’ll make you come whenever I want…”

"Don't... I can't-"

"You will," I insisted, knowing his denial was making me lose my control even faster. "Here," I stroked his tip as my fingers penetrated him with rapid thrusts. "It's hotter than ever, isn't it?"

“N-no… stop… please… oh god… Sorey!”

He came before I could slide a third finger inside of him, his desire dripping thickly down my abdomen as his manhood throbbed and twitched against mine. He looked so meek, like an abused animal that had been tamed by violence. I didn’t want to force myself onto him, but saying that sounded too much like I was convincing no one but myself. Some part of me wanted to believe that I hadn’t completely lost it… that I hadn’t gone entirely mad.

But one look at his feverish face, his parted lips… the sound of his breathless panting… the scent of his sweat and desire coating our naked skin… 

Nothing less than godly reserve kept me from not coming with him. Having seen him so aroused, having heard his lewd moans contradict his resisting body tested my composure. Thinking that it was I who put him in that state was more than I could take, and my cock twitched and throbbed dangerously as if to remind me that I’m not in any condition to endure this any longer.

I lifted him up and carried him in my arms wordlessly though he tried to kick his way out of it. I laid him down on the duvet I spread on the floor across the fireplace. He grabbed at a blanket, but I yanked it easily out of reach.

I pushed his thighs up and wrapped them around my waist. He might have been too weak to resist as my weight made certain that he was anchored beneath me.

I was stiff, so stiff it was painful. I held myself and tried to endure by swirling my cock against the wetness now trailing his thighs and that part of him I’ve been aiming for. I knew I needed to be wet enough to make it less hurting for him. His opening was too small even for two fingers so there’s little doubt he’d have more share of pain than pleasure in what I’m about to do.

I trailed my tongue against the pink nubs rising up and down with his ragged breathing. A lover wants nothing more than to make his partner feel good. I want him to feel as if I’m the only one who can give him this kind of insatiable, unforgettable pleasure. I want him to know only my body, my kiss, my insane hunger. I want him to be mine alone and nobody else’s.

The moment our bodies touched, I knew it.

Sin has the touch of silk, a beauty beyond imagining.

And even for a vampire, Mikleo was unusually warm, so warm my blood surged within me and I was helpless. I had to kiss every inch of him, taste every forbidden part of him to know that this was no dream. Even though I wanted to get right to the point, I knew he wasn’t ready for it. He was panting heavily as if he was out of breath, and it made me worry when his gasps became deeper as if he was running out of air.

I looked up and saw his face tilted away. There’s no way I'd make love to someone showing such a pained face. I wanted Mikleo to feel good… and I knew even then that there are more important things than just keeping myself satisfied. Normally, vampires are vicious when it comes to mating with their chosen pair, but I've learned to tame myself in time. Saying that, however, didn't mean my self-control was always effective.

Might as well consider our first night to be an exception and my restraint, practically non-existent. I looked at my stiffness and prayed it would settle down even for two seconds. It ignored me as I turned my attention back to Mikleo.

“Need a drink? Are you okay?”

Mikleo cracked an eye open. “I—I’m fine… I mean… if you’d slow down a bit…”

“I was actually holding myself back.”

“Gods, you must have done this a million times, that’s wh—”

“You’re wrong,” I cut him off, feeling angry that he should presume that my actions were more out of habit than any genuine emotion. Vampires can be heartless, but I would like to think that I’m better. Hell, I know I am… My body may be driven by instinct in moments like this, but my mind wanted him more than my body ever could. If any god out there tried to get in the way, I fucking would have ripped him to pieces.

I slid next to him, easing my weight off his body. I realized how tiny and slender he was beneath me, but thinking about it more was just too arousing that I killed the thought right there and then. I leaned over him and put my ear above his chest.

“What are you doing?”

“Listening for your heart?”

Mikleo frowned suspiciously. “Really Sorey… you think I’m so taken by you that I’m literally having a heart attack?”

“Just making sure,” I told him honestly, and his beautiful eyes fluttered like butterfly wings. “There’s no way I’m making love to a corpse though I doubt if you could be less beautiful even if you were. Maybe I’d have to make an exception one day…”

“Right. Assuming you love me to death.”

I found myself laughing a little. “That’s a sappy joke right there, Mikleo.” Then I caught his hand and kissed the throbbing vein on his wrist. For some reason I find that part of him so sensual. “But you’re not wrong either.”

He eased into my embrace quite comfortably. I took the chance to trail kisses down the side of his face and the soft contour of his nape that was just begging to be bitten.

“Sorey…”

That moan sounded off a warning in my groin. I knew I should be gentle as I said I will be, but I’m too stiff to mind what I said. I dipped my head between his legs and began sucking him off. I didn’t mind him coming inside my mouth. I want his taste to stay with me… I want my hunger to crave this part of him that no one else can ever have.

Mikleo did not protest. Spread-eagled like that, he moaned against my thrusting tongue as I tried to make him wet enough, moist enough for what was to come next.

His deeper groans finally convinced me he was ready. I reached up to him and parted the strands of silver hair on his forehead, wondering how something so smooth and beautiful and perfect can exist like this in a world that didn’t make any sense. Love and beauty, like madness, didn’t make much sense... all the more reason for them to be persuasive, more convincing than any argument, I suppose. I could hardly contemplate any reason deeper than that as I bent down to kiss his forehead as my fingers began playing with the rim of his hole that tightened around me.

I gasped as I felt his muscle tingle a if a current was running through it. I pushed two fingers in and out, in and out going faster and faster as I trailed kisses along the sides of his face.

I felt him twitch then clamp so hard and tight around my fingers that I almost came. I grunted in disbelief.

“Relax, Mikleo. We’re not even halfway through yet…”

“But I… I already feel so…” His muffled breath brushed against my ear, and the feather-like feel of that was enough to drive me mad. I added one more finger and gave him a full deep thrust, and his body arched and tightened around me, pulsing and throbbing as I slid my fingers up, up even further. He gasped out my name as his cock stiffened like a rod, poking at my abdomen.

So this was his weakness. With my other hand, I grabbed his cock and began massaging it vigorously. He screamed my name, his body flushed and convulsing feverishly. His smooth skin was rubbing against mine, making my mouth hunger for every inch of him.

I licked, I sucked, I bruised him with kisses until I couldn’t hold myself back anymore. I swear to all the gods out there that I wanted this, only this… and if I should die tonight with only this I would have no regrets.

I held myself on top of him between his parted thighs as my cock throbbed between my fingers. It was hard and painful to endure the swelling but harder still to convince myself that _his_ pain will be more tolerable than mine. Mikleo’s hole felt so good and tight around my fingers, but my size is hardly anything to compare.

He stared at my swelling desire as I lined myself in position. He looked so worried and uncertain I wanted to kiss him all over again.

“You’re a beast…”

My cock twitched when he said that. I grunted. “Can’t do anything about that now, can we?”

“Make yourself smaller…”

I bent down and kissed his lips. “Don’t say stupid things.” My voice must be trembling so much that his lids fluttered in surprise. I was at my limit.

Mikleo tilted his face, lips parted sensuously.

_Oh god…_

It was too much to handle all at once. I couldn’t wait for myself to calm down if he’s going to be like this. Without even thinking, my lips moved.

“Sorry, Mikleo…”

He screamed in pain as I pushed myself so deep, so very deep within him. The sensation was intense. The resistance of his inner muscle contracting against mine, combined with the smooth, thickness of my desire slowly leaking to lubricate my movement was enough to drive me wild and insane with pleasure. The tingling, pulsating, tightening resistance against my hard shaft only fueled my burning hunger. I felt an unquenchable thirst within me as I ramped up my pace, tunneling inside of him in and out faster and quicker than our heartbeats. My grunts were loud, louder than the crack and whip of thunder outside as the storm raged and wept with harrowing despair.

But that night I was more desperate than a world gone mad. I ignored Mikleo’s voice that begged and pleaded for me to stop. If I could stop this, I wouldn’t even have dared to begin. Not denying it, my heat was raw and untamed the first time it took over me. Viciously craving for release, I hoisted Mikleo up by the hips, flinging his thighs and legs up around my elbows. The position looked dangerously painful but my need was desperate, brutal beyond reason. I lifted Mikleo up until his lower half was huddled against my body, grinding against mine. I was on my knees before I knew it, bending down on his lower half as my hand groped his thighs. The position was arousing as his entrance became more reachable, easier to pry open. I sank my hard, hungry cock further down, groaning and grunting in pure, absolute bliss.

Mikleo shook bonelessly like a ragdoll as I went faster, moving his lower half up and down, up and down, reveling in the friction that rubbed against my length and swallowed it whole. I rammed my cock inside him again and again, and every time he said “no more… enough… please” I thrust into him harder, aching for the mad quivering flesh wrapped around me, squeezing against my throbbing desire.

I screamed Mikleo’s name as the pleasure reached my gut. This was it... a rush of pure, burning heat was rising within me like a giant wave and I was too helpless to stop.

“Mikleo!” I cried out harshly, desperately, and exploded. Gods, it was amazing… I was soaring and everything seemed white, so white, a brilliant fleck of snow and sunlight floating around me as I wept in pleasure and gave my all. I felt my desire ripple and churn like a whirlpool as I unloaded my seed and buried my cock even more deeply inside of him. I wanted to stay like this forever. 

It felt like my hips would never move again, my entire body went stiff with exhaustion minutes after my release. Both my hands were holding Mikleo up by the waist, his legs draped around me in a lifeless embrace. It took more than a few minutes for my heartbeat to finally calm down as I waited for my swelling heat to subside.

The most regretful thing I’ve ever felt in my life was pulling out, separating my body from him. I want us to be joined like this, mine inside his, melting with him, in him. I want to never leave his side again, to be this close to him every night, every chance I’ve got. I could make love to him anywhere and everywhere, and I wouldn’t get tired, I wouldn’t look for or be satisfied with anyone else…

I reached down to cup Mikleo’s cheek, my mind still soaring in high heavens. “Captain, that was beyond anything I’ve ever…”

My hand froze. He was cold, so cold. I tapped him with my finger, holding his jaw between my fingertips. “Mikleo… I-I’m sorry… Mikleo!”

Despite the shaking I gave him, I couldn’t rouse him even a tiny bit. His eyes remained closed and his breathing so shallow I could hardly tell if it was even there.

I grabbed the blanket within reach and bundled him up, rubbing his hands against my cheek as I massaged his foot with my other hand to keep his blood in circulation. “Hey, Mikleo… open your eyes, c'mon..." I could feel myself shiver, enough to make me stutter. "Wake up, Captain!"

I didn't believe in god, but I was praying for the first time. _Please... oh god, please wake him up..._

I’ve been calling to him a hundred times, but he barely even moved—even his eyes remained shut. There was a faint pulse in his wrist as I desperately listened for any sign of life. Humans think the undead cannot die, but in truth, the immortality of vampires is an illusion where vampires are concerned. Centuries of strife and civil war were proof enough that we've been fated to kill each other, no less different from what humanity has been doing to itself. 

So when Mikleo's lips darkened to a shade of blue, my heart almost stopped, and I panicked. It was something I’ve rarely seen among our kind, and though I have an inkling as to what the reason was, I was unsure whether I would be doing the right thing.

A _First Blood_ after all, loathed feeding among other things. Though carnal cravings seemed tolerable and natural, the idea of drinking up human blood makes us feel lower than savage beasts prowling in the uncivilized wild, completely at the mercy of our primitive instincts.

Then again, after making love to Mikleo like a beast, I had no mind to dwell on the self-loathing. Inexperience made me so prejudiced about my own kind that I’m surprised I had survived this long.

I grabbed at the clothes I’ve thrown aside and pulled out a knife from the side pocket of my coat. I walked back to a bundled Mikleo and lifted his head a little, cradling it on my lap.

His ashen face is just too beautiful in the light of the flickering flames. Every time I look at him, I’m reminded of the perfection of small miracles…

My lips parted to kiss him, and though I knew I had to break the kiss soon enough before I get too distracted, I slipped my tongue in, hoping I could relish it longer, that he would open his eyes and breathe into me and tell me everything’s all right…

I slit my wrist and tilted it toward his partially open mouth. I watched my own blood trickle down those cold lips, his tongue…

I lifted his head a little to make sure it would go down his throat. He had to swallow, to drink even a little…

He coughed. I prayed to all the gods out there, nameless they may be, that I’ll take better care of him. But the moment his gaze ended in mine, the promise faded into a faint, distant memory. I bent over to kiss him, wanting him all over again.

He pushed me away, covering his mouth with one hand. His eyes smoldered, and if I could see his lips, I was almost certain he was pouting.

“I was so happy you came to that I wanted to kiss you…” I told him, settling for a peck on his forehead. “You really scared the hell out of me, Mikleo."

"Sex with you is scary."

I wanted to give him a smug smile, but I was too worried to even do that. "Hey, c'mon, seriously..." I lifted his chin up so he couldn't avoid looking at me. "Feeling any better?”

He tilted his face away before answering my question. I was also right about him pouting. I just had to mention it because it was too damn cute to ignore…

“Your blood tastes awful.”

I didn’t know why I found that funny when I was just about ready to have a heart attack a minute ago. I didn't think I have ever laughed the same way I did that time.

“Let me suck it back then,” I offered, bending down to try and kiss him again. “Through your mouth.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Captain,” he huffed, pushing my face away. “Your insubordination is not excused.”

“Oh, really?” I was just so happy to know he was breathing normally again that I couldn’t take anything he said seriously even if he tried to look angry. Or more like he sounded angry as he gave me one of his scrutinizing glares. I brushed the tip of his cock with an index finger and slipped it inside my mouth to taste.

“You can detain me anytime you want, Captain Luzrov Rulay. Just you and me in a cage is fine.”

"I'll throw away the key then. How's that?"

"Oh?" I stroked him through the blanket, feeling for the tip of his erection. "I'll take my sweet time then and just enjoy it, Mikleo."

He slapped my hand away. I could see that he was easily flustered, but if Mikleo had any real weapon, it was that pouting stare of his, that infuriated look that could make me feel defeated without a fight.

“No thanks, I’m fine the way I am, Captain Ravendalf!” I was smiling when he gave me a look over. “But Sorey, aren’t you cold standing around naked like that?”

I looked down at my body and caught him staring when I turned my attention back at him. As usual, like a shy, embarrassed teenager, he looked away, avoiding my eyes, pretending he wasn't even interested. The next second, I realized I couldn’t keep my promise. My cock had been awakened by those stealthy glances, and now it was throbbing for attention.

I lifted his thigh out of the blanket that I used to cover him up. His look of surprise aroused me even more.

"You're not gonna sleep in anything when you're with me," I told him, untangling the blanket from his slim legs. The creamy white glow of his skin always gave me a hard-on that secretly embarrassed me too many times. If only he knew how troublesome that was... 

No matter how many years went by, I couldn't look at his nudity for long without being seduced like an inexperienced virgin. I trailed kisses on the feverish skin that warmed even more against my mouth, licking every moisture, every bead of sweat on him that exuded an intoxicating sweetness, like lavender and vanilla mixed with rain. I realized he was so wet, and his fragrance and my scent blended well with a provocative, addicting lure in it. Needless to say, chosen pairs are normally sensitive only to the peculiar scents of their partners. Their first heat sets in the moment they mate with their Chosens and knot inside of them. The heat cycles are not the same for everyone but gradually develop, following a biorhythm that is unique to, yet compatible with the rhythms and moods of the pair. Only the blood moon cycle becomes an exception, as it affects all vampires similarly, making them lust indiscriminately regardless of sex.

You can tell that bisexuality is _never_ an issue among vampires. The way one’s blood responds to his or her Chosen is a mystery in itself, and when it happens the last thing you wonder about is your partner’s sex. All your feelings are pulled toward that person, and more often than not the sexual compatibility is just one of those things that go with it. Most Chosens are compatible mentally and emotionally in many respects. If the bond had been purely sexual to begin with, no chosen pair would ever last for so long. After all, heats are temporary, lasting for weeks or two months every year at the most for most pairs. It's typical for a couple to display the same attachment and attraction for each other outside of those cycles, with normal inhibitions taking over, of course. 

As for Mikleo and I, we just have our heats longer… much, much longer…

He seemed distracted, letting me stroke him, kiss him without struggling a little too much. It was hard to tell whether he wanted me to stop or if I needed to put in more effort.

“Sorey…" his voice catches, and it alarms me, scattering my thoughts. "You’re still bleeding…”

I stared at my wrist indifferently. So Mikleo was concerned about that... I smiled in a daze, catching what must have been faint sparks of lavender in his weary eyes.

Bending over him, I pried his mouth open by pushing my tongue inside.

“Drink me, Mikleo.”    

He flushed a deep scarlet as his eyes widened in shock. It was mesmerizing to be gazed at by something so beautiful you couldn’t look away.

“Drink me, please…” I breathed more urgently, panting as I pushed my slashed wrist against his lips. “Make me feel how much you want me too…”

Mikleo looked at me through half-dazed eyes, and for a moment his meekness, his submissive shyness was all the world to me. “You’re terrible at this, Sorey…”

“I know…” I admitted, touching his lips with my index finger as I watch trickles of deep vermilion stain his lips. “Just as you’re a terrible liar.”

“I might end up sucking you dry…” he tells me. I can see his tongue licking my blood with suppressed eagerness and for a second, it made me wonder how long he had endured his own instinctive craving. Vaguely, it reminded me how much I’ve sucked from him too, and that between us, I was the mad wolf, the real predator who couldn’t live without feeding on his partner's precious seed during lovemaking.

Before I could give it any further thought, I felt him deepen his bite. He was sucking rabidly now, his lips clamped tightly around my swelling wound.

It was erotic, more sensual than anything I’ve ever seen or imagined. My gut was churning, my groin heating up so much more than it ever did when I first came. I couldn’t keep my voice from trembling as I caressed his cheek, urging him on.

It must have been the sensation of being drained to your very core. I felt my body awaken, heat up like I was burning. The sensation, however, was far from unpleasant. The raging heat was sensual, shutting my senses to anything else. Like lava, I felt my seed overflowing, on the edge of despair for release. I plunged my cock into Mikleo’s throbbing entrance that was still wet with my seed and sank myself ever so deeply. It was delicious, agonizingly delirious… the feel of him swallowing me and wanting my entire being inside of him. His bites got deeper as I drove myself into him again and again, pulsating madly and faster than our heartbeats...

I exploded. My whole body shivered as I unloaded my seed inside of him. My cock thrust into the deepest part of him and quivered as it reached its climax. I couldn't count how long or how many times I exploded inside of him, but every burst felt exhilarating. Even as I felt myself overflow, I knew I wasn't finished, I was still hard and hungry and unsatisfied. I hoisted Mikleo up, higher than I ever did and pushed him down my swollen cock. It buried itself rabidly, spewing all its liquid fire into his deep, waiting cavern.

_Dear god…_

I wept and groaned like a dying beast, crying out his name. Mikleo threw his head back in a deep moan as he too shivered and released his all. He was squeezing against me so tightly I could feel every vein and muscle of mine convulse when we both came. It was too much I couldn’t bear the pleasure…

Literally and in every way, it was a joy that kills. I found myself dying in breathless ecstasy. I held him and entered him and filled him up. I felt my cock knotting inside of him and didn’t try to stop it.

A knot can either be good or bad. Knotting makes a bond more secure by making a partner’s scent more pronounced to his partner to the point that all his emotions become _scented_ , alerting his mate to any sign of disturbance. Every state of being has a scent for chosen pairs, and that helps deepen our understanding of what the other is going through, or whether there’s any threat that the other should be wary of.

The bad thing about it is that knotting heightens heats to the point that it attracts the lust of unpaired vampires. It must be the reason why vampires would rather stay in their love nest during their heats, avoiding any contact with outsiders. The seclusion has a practical purpose: vampires are possessively jealous to the point that they will blindly kill anyone who poses as a rival. There's no line between obsessive lust and love for creatures of our kind. We can't have one without the other.

I speak from experience, if anything. I reveled in Mikleo’s thirst for me, giving him my blood to drink. I could tell he hasn’t been feeding for months, the reason why he was so weak and light when I carried him a while back. Maybe I needed to be more gentle as well was what I thought. I tried to, in all honesty, but every time I make that promise, my resolve crumbles easily the moment Mikleo gives me that look. His gaze is like a window to all things beautiful that even my color-blindness couldn’t help but be lured into it. It didn’t matter if the world looked black and white. It was beautiful just the same if I could see it through his eyes.

We sank onto the floor, my body on top of him, my wrist still caught between his eager lips. My cock was pulsating like crazy inside of him and I couldn’t bring myself to pull out. He felt so good I wonder if I could function normally from now on without getting caught up in the middle of wanton daydreams of sex with Mikleo. I couldn’t afford to go into battle wondering about the kinky things I could do with him the moment it was over. I might end up shooting anything at random just so I could end the war and finally have a reason to ask the gods out there to leave us alone.

I felt Mikleo stir slightly in my arms, his lips finally letting go of my wrist. His teeth had left deep marks on my skin, leaving the slit a little bit swollen as well. Not that I mind.

“Sorey…” he whispered, and my immediate impulse was to kiss his mouth and lick any blood that stained his lips. I haven't tasted my own blood in a long while. He smiled softly, cocking an eye open. “Let me sleep a little, would you? I think I haven't felt this sleepy... and it feels so good...”

“Yeah, of course," I whispered against his hair, drinking in his scent. "Besides, you’ll need your strength for later.”

Both his eyelids fluttered open this time. He really looked sleepy as he sighed slightly against my chest. “Really Sorey. Such a beast you are.”

“I know, Captain,” I teased again, through the haze that was slowly overtaking both of us. “So stop saying stuff like that unless you’re planning on stirring me up after everything we did.”

“It was a lot…” He yawned a little, and I found myself smiling in his hair where I buried my face. His scent is so delicious.

“You can rest for a little bit, Mikleo. I’m trying hard not to be _that_ greedy for your sake,” I glibly said, though I was serious about not ending it here. I want him so bad that, even if I’ve lost a little blood, my body felt like a taut string. Nothing could calm me down.

He exhaled against me. His breath was hot and it was making me _really_ restless again. To think I haven’t pulled out of him yet.

“Sorey, tell your cock I’ve had enough for one night. I feel like I’m about to split in half.”

I know I should worry, but I found myself laughing off his warning. He must have felt my arousal just now and was just reacting to it. Mikleo’s mouth is a terrible liar, but his scent isn’t. After knotting with him, I could sense his emotions clearly. And right then I could tell that he wasn’t being honest.

I pushed some strands of hair off his cheek. “I’ll put you back together again and again if that happens.”

Mikleo pouted, but his hand was caressing my chest, running shivers up against my spine. It was torture and he knows it.

“You feel so warm,” he tells me.

“Two hours is all you’re gonna get for teasing me like that.”

He rolled onto his side, pushing against me. I slid out of him, feeling my shaft regret it right away. I was getting hard again, and Mikleo must have _really_ felt it.

I chuckled to myself. As if I’d let him get away so easily.

“Selfish ogre,” Mikleo muttered a little breathlessly.

“I’m greedy, but I love you like hell.”

“Come again?”

I snuggled against his shoulder. “You want me to come? Can I?”

“That’s not what I—” He craned his neck and reached up for my cheek, his eyes fluttering as he gazed at me sleepily. It seemed he could see beyond everything, right through my soul if I had one. It was a tender expression I would never forget, the reason I could endure all future hells from thereon.

“If you let me sleep a little, I’m all yours,” he told me, his voice soft, lilting. “I’ll make you come, Sorey, as much as you want… as much as you want and more…”

We kissed.

I knew right then that I could be happy just to be with him like this. War and peace didn’t matter for as long as I have Mikleo’s warmth and this kindling fire to keep away our shadows…

I love him. I love him so deeply it hurts…

I realized that if I can have this one, small miracle, this one undeserved grace, then maybe I can learn to accept this curse that made me what I am. Even darkness and all its evils is a small price to pay for this one night that I know I will never forget...

If only any god out there would understand.

 

**o)------------o)O(o------------(o**

 

 


End file.
